LIBRARY  * 


LIBRARY] 

CAUfOtNIA 

SAN  oiseo      J 


THE 
WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 


THE 
WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 


BY 

JEAN  HENRI  FABRE 

Author  of  "SOCIAL  LIFE  IN  THE  INSECT 
WORLD,"  etc. 


TRANSLATED  BY 

ALEXANDER  TEIXEIRA  DE  MATTOS 

AND 

BERNARD  MIALL 


WITH  16  ILLUSTRATIONS 


NEW  YORK 
THE  CENTURY  CO. 
1918 


Copyright,  1918,  by 
THE  CENTUBT  Co. 

Reprinted  October,  1918 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  THE  HARMAS 3 

II  THE  GREEN  GRASSHOPPER .     .     .  16 

III  THE  EMPUSA 30 

IV  THE  CAPRICORN 43 

V     THE  BURYING-BEETLES :  THE  BURIAL 59 

VI  THE  BURYING-BEETLES:   EXPERIMENTS 76 

VII  THE  BLUEBOTTLE 101 

VIII  THE  PINE-PROCESSION ARY 119 

IX  THE  SPIDERS 142 

X  THE  BANDED  EPEIRA 169 

XI  THE  EUMENES 202 

XII     THE   OSMIyK         . 221 

XIII  THE  GLOW-WORM 268 

XIV  THE  CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR 289 

INDEX 319 

NOTE. —  Chapters  V  and  VI  have  been  translated  by  Mr.  Bernard 
Miall;  the  remainder  by  Mr.  Alexander  Teixeira  de  Mattos. 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

The   Harmas Frontispiece 

FACING 
FACE 

The  Empusa 32 

Insects  at  Rest 40 

The  Larva  of  the  Great  Capricorn 48 

The  Great  Capricorn :  The  Male  and  the  Female 56 

Experiments  —  The  Burying-beetles  and  the  Mole     ....  84 

Experiments  —  The  Burying-beetles  and  the  Mouse    ....  88 

Experiments  —  The  Burying-beetles  and  the  Suspended  Mole    .  92 

Experiments  —  The  Burying-beetles  and  the  Suspended  Mole    .  96 

The  Bluebottle  Laying  Her  Eggs  in  the  Slit  of  a  Dead  Bird's 
Beak        104 

The  Lycosa  Lifting  Her  White  Bag  of  Eggs  Towards  the  Sun, 
to  Assist  the  Hatching 156 

The  Banded  Epeira  Inscribing  Her  Flourish,  After  Finishing 
Her  Web 172 

The  Banded  Epeira  Letting  Herself  Drop  by  the  End  of  Her 
Thread 172 

The  Banded  Epeira  Swathing  Her  Capture 184 

Osmia-nests  in  a  Bramble  Twig 236 

Osmia-nests  Inside  a  Reed 236 

Artificial  Hive  Invented  by  the  Author  to  Study  the  Osmia's 
Laying 236 

Old  Nests  Used  by  the  Osmia  in  Laying  Her  Eggs     .     .     .     .  260 

The  Glow-worm 284 

The  Cabbage-caterpillar 284 


THE 
WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 


THE  WONDERS  OF 
INSTINCT 

CHAPTER  I 

THE   HARMAS 

THIS  is  what  I  wished  for,  hoc  erat  in  votis:  a  bit  of  land, 
oh,  not  so  very  large,  but  fenced  in,  to  avoid  the  draw- 
backs of  a  public  way;  an  abandoned,  barren,  sun- 
scorched  bit  of  land,  favored  by  thistles  and  by  Wasps 
and  Bees.  Here,  without  fear  of  being  troubled  by  the 
passers-by,  I  could  consult  the  Ammophila  and  the 
Sphex  l  and  engage  in  that  difficult  conversation  whose 
questions  and  answers  have  experiment  for  their  lan- 
guage ;  here,  without  distant  expeditions  that  take  up  my 
time,  without  tiring  rambles  that  strain  my  nerves,  I  could 
contrive  my  plans  of  attack,  lay  my  ambushes  and  watch 
their  effects  at  every  hour  of  the  day.  Hoc  erat  in  votis. 
Yes,  this  was  my  wish,  my  dream,  always  cherished,  al- 
ways vanishing  into  the  mists  of  the  future. 

And  it  is  no  easy  matter  to  acquire  a  laboratory  in  the 
open  fields,  when  harassed  by  a  terrible  anxiety  about 
one's  daily  bread.  For  forty  years  have  I  fought,  with 
steadfast  courage,  against  the  paltry  plagues  of  life;  and 
the  long-wished-for  laboratory  has  come  at  last.  What 
it  has  cost  me  in  perseverance  and  relentless  work  I  will 

1Two  species  of  Digger-  or  Hunting-wasps. —  Translator's  Note. 
3 


4  THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

not  try  to  say.  It  has  come;  and,  with  it  —  a  more  seri- 
ous condition  —  perhaps  a  little  leisure.  I  say  perhaps, 
for  my  leg  is  still  hampered  with  a  few  links  of  the  con- 
vict's chain. 

The  wish  is  realized.  It  is  a  little  late,  O !  my  pretty 
insects!  I  greatly  fear  that  the  peach  is  offered  to  me 
when  I  am  beginning  to  have  no  teeth  wherewith  to  eat 
it.  Yes,  it  is  a  little  late :  the  wide  horizons  of  the  out- 
set have  shrunk  into  a  low  and  stifling  canopy,  more  and 
more  straitened  day  by  day.  Regretting  nothing  in  the 
past,  save  those  whom  I  have  lost;  regretting  nothing, 
not  even  my  first  youth;  hoping  nothing  either,  I  have 
reached  the  point  at  which,  worn  out  by  the  experience  of 
things,  we  ask  ourselves  if  life  be  worth  the  living. 

Amid  the  ruins  that  surround  me,  one  strip  of  wall  re- 
mains standing,  immovable  upon  its  solid  base :  my  pas- 
sion for  scientific  truth.  Is  that  enough,  O!  my  busy 
insects,  to  enable  me  to  add  yet  a  few  seemly  pages  to 
your  history?  Will  my  strength  not  cheat  my  good  in- 
tentions ?  Why,  indeed,  did  I  forsake  you  so  long  ? 

Friends  have  reproached  me  for  it.  Ah,  tell  them,  tell 
those  friends,  who  are  yours  as  well  as  mine,  tell  them 
that  it  was  not  forget  fulness  on  my  part,  not  weariness, 
nor  neglect:  I  thought  of  you;  I  was  convinced  that  the 
Cerceris' l  cave  had  more  fair  secrets  to  reveal  to  us,  that 
the  chase  of  the  Sphex  held  fresh  surprises  in  store. 
But  time  failed  me;  I  was  alone,  deserted,  struggling 
against  misfortune.  Before  philosophizing,  one  had  to 
live.  Tell  them  that,  and  they  will  pardon  me. 

1 A  species  of  Digger-wasp.—  Translator's  Note. 


THE  HARMAS  5 

Others  have  reproached  me  with  my  style,  which  has 
not  the  solemnity,  nay,  better  the  dryness  of  the  schools. 
They  fear  lest  a  page  that  is  read  without  fatigue  should 
not  always  be  the  expression  of  the  truth.  Were  I  to 
take  their  word  for  it,  we  are  profound  only  on  condition 
of  being  obscure.  Come  here,  one  and  all  of  you  —  you, 
the  sting-bearers,  and  you,  the  wing-cased  armor-clads 
— take  up  my  defense  and  bear  witness  in  my  favor. 
Tell  of  the  intimate  terms  on  which  I  live  with  you,  of 
the  patience  with  which  I  observe  you.  of  the  care  with 
which  I  record  your  actions.  Your  evidence  is  unani- 
mous ;  yes,  my  pages,  though  they  bristle  not  with  hollow 
formulas  nor  learned  smatterings,  are  the  exact  narrative 
of  facts  observed,  neither  more  nor  less ;  and  whoso  cares 
to  question  you  in  his  turn  will  obtain  the  same  replies. 

And  then,  my  dear  insects,  if  you  cannot  convince  those 
good  people,  because  you  do  not  carry  the  weight  of 
tedium,  I,  in  my  turn,  will  say  to  them : 

"  You  rip  up  the  animal  and  I  study  it  alive ;  you  turn 
it  into  an  object  of  horror  and  pity,  whereas  I  cause  it  to 
be  loved ;  you  labor  in  a  torture-chamber  and  dissecting- 
room,  I  make  my  observations  under  the  blue  sky,  to  the 
song  of  the  Cicadse ; 1  you  subject  cell  and  protoplasm  to 
chemical  tests,  I  study  instinct  in  its  loftiest  manifesta- 
tions; you  pry  into  death,  I  pry  into  life.  And  why 
should  I  not  complete  my  thought :  the  boars  have  mud- 
died the  clear  stream;  natural  history,  youth's  glorious 
study,  has,  by  dint  of  cellular  improvements,  become  a 

!The  Cicada  Cigale,  an  insect  akin  to  the  Grasshopper  and 
found  more  particularly  in  the  south  of  France.—  Translator's  Note. 


6  THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

hateful  and  repulsive  thing.  Well,  if  I  write  for  men  of 
learning,  for  philosophers,  who,  one  day,  will  try  to  some 
extent  to  unravel  the  tough  problem  of  instinct,  I  write 
also,  I  write  above  all  things,  for  the  young,  I  want  to 
make  them  love  the  natural  history  which  you  make  them 
hate;  and  that  is  why,  while  keeping  strictly  to  the  do- 
main of  truth,  I  avoid  your  scientific  prose,  which  too 
often,  alas,  seems  borrowed  from  some  Iroquois  idiom!  " 

But  this  is  not  my  business  for  the  moment :  I  want  to 
speak  of  the  bit  of  land  long  cherished  in  my  plans  to 
form  a  laboratory  of  living  entomology,  the  bit  of  land 
which  I  have  at  last  obtained  in  the  solitude  of  a  little 
village.  It  is  a  harmas,  the  name  given  in  this  district,1 
to  an  untilled,  pebbly  expanse  abandoned  to  the  vegetation 
of  the  thyme.  It  is  too  poor  to  repay  the  work  of  the 
plow,  but  the  Sheep  passes  there  in  spring,  when  it  has 
chanced  to  rain  and  a  little  grass  shoots  up. 

My  harmas,  however,  because  of  its  modicum  of  red 
earth  swamped  by  a  huge  mass  of  stones,  has  received  a 
rough  first  attempt  at  cultivation :  I  am  told  that  vines 
once  grew  here.  And,  in  fact,  when  we  dig  the  ground 
before  planting  a  few  trees,  we  turn  up,  here  and  there, 
remains  of  the  precious  stock,  half -carbonized  by  time. 
The  three-pronged  fork,  therefore,  the  only  implement 
of  husbandry  that  can  penetrate  such  a  soil  as  this,  has 
entered  here;  and  I  am  sorry,  for  the  primitive  vege- 
tation has, disappeared.  No  more  thyme,  no  more  laven- 
der, no  more  clumps  of  kermes-oaks,  the  dwarf  oak  that 
forms  forests  across  which  we  step  by  lengthening  our 
1  The  country  round  Serignan,  in  Provence. —  Translator's  Note. 


THE  HARMAS  7 

stride  a  little.  As  these  plants,  especially  the  first  two, 
might  be  of  use  to  me  by  offering  the  Bees  and  Wasps  a 
spoil  to  forage,  I  am  compelled  to  reinstate  them  in  the 
ground  whence  they  were  driven  by  the  fork. 

What  abounds  without  my  mediation  is  the  invaders 
of  any  soil  that  is  first  dug  up  and  then  left  for  a  long 
time  to  its  own  resources.  We  have,  in  the  first  rank, 
the  couch-grass,  that  execrable  weed  which  three  years 
of  stubborn  warfare  have  not  succeeded  in  exterminating. 
Next,  in  respect  of  number,  come  the  centauries,  grim- 
looking  one  and  all,  bristling  with  prickles  or  starry  hal- 
berds. They  are  the  yellow-flowered  centaury,  the  moun- 
tain centaury,  the  star-thistle  and  the  rough  centaury :  the 
first  predominates.  Here  and  there,  amid  their  inextri- 
cable confusion,  stands,  like  a  chandelier  with  spreading 
orange  flowers  for  lights,  the  fierce  Spanish  oyster-plant, 
whose  spikes  are  strong  as  nails.  Above  it  towers  the 
Illyrian  cotton-thistle,  whose  straight  and  solitary  stalk 
soars  to  a  height  of  three  to  six  feet  and  ends  in  large 
pink  tufts.  Its  armor  hardly  yields  before  that  of  the 
oyster-plant.  Nor  must  we  forget  the  lesser  thistle-tribe, 
with,  first  of  all,  the  prickly  or  "  cruel "  thistle,  which  is 
so  well  armed  that  the  plant-collector  knows  not  where  to 
grasp  it;  next,  the  spear-thistle,  with  its  ample  foliage, 
ending  each  of  its  veins  with  a  spear-head;  lastly,  the 
black  knap-weed,  which  gathers  itself  into  a  spiky  knot. 
In  among  these,  in  long  lines  armed  with  hooks,  the 
shoots  of  the  blue  dewberry  creep  along  the  ground.  To 
visit  the  prickly  thicket  when  the  Wasp  goes  foraging, 
you  must  wear  boots  that  come  to  mid-leg  or  else  resign 


8  THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

yourself  to  a  smarting  in  the  calves.  As  long  as  the 
ground  retains  a  few  remnants  of  the  vernal  rains,  this 
rude  vegetation  does  not  lack  a  certain  charm,  when  the 
pyramids  of  the  oyster-plant  and  the  slender  branches  of 
the  cotton-thistle  rise  above  the  wide  carpet  formed  by  the 
yellow-flowered  centaury's  saffron  heads;  but  let  the 
droughts  of  summer  come  and  we  see  but  a  desolate 
waste,  which  the  flame  of  a  match  would  set  ablaze  from 
one  end  to  the  other.  Such  is,  or  rather  was,  when  I  took 
possession  of  it,  the  Eden  of  bliss  where  I  mean  to  live 
henceforth  alone  with  the  insect.  Forty  years  of  des- 
perate struggle  have  won  it  for  me. 

Eden,  I  said ;  and,  from  the  point  of  view  that  interests 
me,  the  expression  is  not  out  of  place.  This  cursed 
ground,  which  no  one  would  have  had  at  a  gift  to  sow 
with  a  pinch  of  turnip-seed,  is  an  earthly  paradise  for 
the  Bees  and  the  Wasps.  Its  mighty  growth  of  thistles 
and  centauries  draws  them  all  to  me  from  everywhere 
around.  Never,  in  my  insect-hunting  memories,  have 
I  seen  so  large  a  population  at  a  single  spot ;  all  the  trades 
have  made  it  their  rallying-point.  Here  come  hunters  of 
every  kind  of  game,  builders  in  clay,  weavers  of  cotton 
goods,  collectors  of  pieces  cut  from  a  leaf  or  the  petals  of 
a  flower,  architects  in  pasteboard,  plasterers  mixing  mor- 
tar, carpenters  boring  wood,  miners  digging  underground 
galleries,  workers  handling  goldbeater's  skin  and  many 
more. 

Who  is  this  one?     An  Anthidium.1     She  scrapes  the 

1  A  Cotton-bee.—  Translator's  Note. 


THE  HARMAS  9 

cobwebby  stalk  of  the  yellow-flowered  centaury  and 
gathers  a  ball  of  wadding  which  she  carries  off  proudly 
in  the  tips  of  her  mandibles.  She  will  turn  it,  under 
ground,  into  cotton-felt  satchels  to  hold  the  store  of 
honey  and  the  egg.  And  these  others,  so  eager  for 
plunder?  They  are  Megachiles,1  carrying  under  their 
bellies  their  black,  white,  or  blood-red  reaping-brushes. 
They  will  leave  the  thistles  to  visit  the  neighboring  shrubs 
and  there  cut  from  the  leaves  oval  pieces  which  will  be 
made  into  a  fit  receptacle  to  contain  the  harvest.  And 
these,  clad  in  black  velvet?  They  are  Chalicodomse,2 
who  work  with  cement  and  gravel.  We  could  easily  find 
their  masonry  on  the  stones  in  the  harmas.  And  these, 
noisily  buzzing  with  a  sudden  flight?  They  are  the 
Anthophorse,3  who  live  in  the  old  walls  and  the  sunny 
banks  of  the  neighborhood. 

Now  come  the  Osmiae.  One  stacks  her  cells  in  the 
spiral  staircase  of  an  empty  snail-shell;  another,  attack- 
ing the  pith  of  a  dry  bit  of  bramble,  obtains  for  her 
grubs  a  cylindrical  lodging  and  divides  it  into  floors  by 
means  of  partition-walls;  a  third  employs  the  natural 
channel  of  a  cut  reed;  a  fourth  is  a  rent-free  tenant  of 
the  vacant  galleries  of  some  Mason-bee.  Here  are  the 
Macrocerse  and  the  Eucerae,  whose  males  are  proudly 
horned;  the  Dasypodae,  who  carry  an  ample  brush  of 
bristles  on  their  hind-legs  for  a  reaping  implement;  the 
Andrenae,  so  many  fold  in  species;  the  slender-bellied 

1  Leaf-cutting  Bees. —  Translator's  Note. 

2  Mason-bees. —  Translator's  Note. 

»  A  species  of  Wild  Bees.— Translator's  Note. 


10         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

Halicti.1  I  omit  a  host  of  others.  If  I  tried  to  con- 
tinue this  record  of  the  guests  of  my  thistles,  it  would 
muster  almost  the  whole  of  the  honey-yielding  tribe. 
A  learned  entomologist  of  Bordeaux,  Professor  Perez, 
to  whom  I  submit  the  naming  of  my  prizes,  once  asked 
me  if  I  had  any  special  means  of  hunting,  to  send  him  so 
many  rarities  and  even  novelties.  I  am  not  at  all  an 
experienced  and  still  less  a  zealous  hunter,  for  the  insect 
interests  me  much  more  when  engaged  in  its  work  than 
when  stuck  on  a  pin  in  a  cabinet.  The  whole  secret  of 
my  hunting  is  reduced  to  my  dense  nursery  of  thistles 
and  centauries. 

By  a  most  fortunate  chance,  with  this  populous  family 
of  honey-gatherers  was  allied  the  whole  hunting  tribe. 
The  builders'  men  had  distributed  here  and  there,  in  the 
harmas,  great  mounds  of  sand  and  heaps  of  stones,  with 
a  view  of  running  up  some  surrounding  walls.  The 
work  dragged  on  slowly;  and  the  materials  found  occu- 
pants from  the  first  year.  The  Mason-bees  had  chosen 
the  interstices  between  the  stones  as  a  dormitory  where 
to  pass  the  night  in  serried  groups.  The  powerful  Eyed 
Lizard,  who,  when  close-pressed,  attacks  wide-mouthed 
both  man  and  dog,  had  selected  a  cave  wherein  to  lie  in 
wait  for  the  passing  Scarab ; 2  the  Black-eared  Chat, 
garbed  like  a  Dominican,  white-frocked  with  black  wings, 
sat  on  the  top  stone,  singing  his  short  rustic  lay :  his  nest, 
with  its  sky-blue  eggs,  must  be  somewhere  in  the  heap. 

1  Osmiae,   Macrocerae,   Eucerae,   Dasypodse,  Andrenas,   and  Halicti 
are  all  different  species  of  Wild  Bees.—  Translator's  Note. 

2  A  Dung-beetle  known  also  as  the  Sacred  Beetle.—  Translator's 
Note. 


THE  HARMAS  11 

The  little  Dominican  disappeared  with  the  loads  of  stones. 
I  regret  him :  he  would  have  been  a  charming  neighbor. 
The  Eyed  Lizard  I  do  not  regret  at  all. 

The  sand  sheltered  a  different  colony.  Here,  the 
Bembeces  l  were  sweeping  the  threshold  of  their  burrows, 
flinging  a  curve  of  dust  behind  them ;  the  Languedocian 
Sphex  was  dragging  her  Ephippigera  2  by  the  antennae ; 
a  Stizus  3  was  storing  her  preserves  of  Cicadellae.4  To 
my  sorrow,  the  masons  ended  by  evicting  the  sporting 
tribe;  but,  should  I  ever  wish  to  recall  it,  I  have  but  to 
renew  the  mounds  of  sand :  they  will  soon  all  be  there. 

Hunters  that  have  not  disappeared,  their  homes  being 
different,  are  the  Ammophilse,  whom  I  see  fluttering,  one 
in  spring,  the  others  in  autumn,  along  the  garden-walks 
and  over  the  lawns,  in  search  of  a  Caterpillar ;  the  Pom- 
pili,5  who  travel  alertly,  beating  their  wings  and  rum- 
maging in  every  corner  in  quest  of  a  Spider.  The  largest 
of  them  waylays  the  Narbonne  Lycosa,6  whose  burrow  is 
not  infrequent  in  the  harmas.  This  burrow  is  a  vertical 
well,  with  a  curb  of  fescue-grass  intertwined  with  silk. 
You  can  see  the  eyes  of  the  mighty  Spider  gleam  at  the 
bottom  of  the  den  like  little  diamonds,  an  object  of  terror 
to  most.  What  a  prey  and  what  dangerous  hunting  for 
the  Pompilus!  And  here,  on  a  hot  summer  afternoon, 

*A  species  of  Digger-wasps. —  Translator's  Note. 
2  A  species  of  Green  Grasshopper.—  Translator's  Note. 
8  A  species  of  Hunting-wasp. —  Translator's  Note. 
*  Froghoppers.—  Translator's  Note. 

5  The  Pompilus  is  a  species  of  Hunting-wasp  known  also  as  the 
Ringed  Calicurgus. —  Translator's  Note. 

6  Known  also  as  the  Black-bellied  Tarantula. —  Translator's  Note. 


12         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

is  the  Amazon-ant,  who  leaves  her  barrack-rooms  in  long 
battalions  and  marches  far  afield  to  hunt  for  slaves.  We 
will,  follow  her  in  her  raids  when  we  find  time.  Here 
again,  around  a  heap  of  grasses  turned  to  mold,  are 
Scolise  1  an  inch  and  a  half  long,  who  fly  gracefully  and 
dive  into  the  heap,  attracted  by  a  rich  prey,  the  grubs  of 
Lamellicorns,  Oryctes,  and  Cetoniae.2 

What  subjects  for  study !  And  there  are  more  to  come. 
The  house  was  as  utterly  deserted  as  the  ground.  When 
man  was  gone  and  peace  assured,  the  animal  hastily  seized 
on  everything.  The  Warbler  took  up  his  abode  in  the 
lilac-shrubs;  the  Greenfinch  settled  in  the  thick  shelter  of 
the  cypresses ;  the  Sparrow  carted  rags  and  straw  under 
every  slate ;  the  Serin-finch,  whose  downy  nest  is  no  big- 
ger than  half  an  apricot,  came  and  chirped  in  the  plane- 
tree  tops;  the  Scops  made  a  habit  of  uttering  his  monot- 
onous, piping  note  here,  of  an  evening;  the  bird  of  Pallas 
Athene,  the  Owl,  came  hurrying  along  to  hoot  and  hiss. 

In  front  of  the  house  is  a  large  pond,  fed  by  the  aque- 
duct that  supplies  the  village  pumps  with  water.  Here, 
from  half  a  mile  and  more  around,  come  the  Frogs  and 
Toads  in  the  lovers'  season.  The  Natterjack,  sometimes 
as  large  as  a  plate,  with  a  narrow  stripe  of  yellow  down 
his  back,  makes  his  appointments  here  to  take  his  bath; 
when  the  evening  twilight  falls,  we  see  hopping  along  the 
edge  the  Midwife  Toad,  the  male,  who  carries  a  cluster  of 
eggs,  the  size  of  peppercorns,  wrapped  round  his  hind- 

1  Large  Hunting-wasps.—  Translator's  Note, 

2  Different  species  of  Beetles.    The  Cetonia  is  the  Rose-chafer.— 
Translator's  Note. 


THE  HARMAS  13 

legs:  the  genial  paterfamilias  has  brought  his  precious 
packet  from  afar,  to  leave  it  in  the  water  and  afterwards 
retire  under  some  flat  stone,  when  he  will  emit  a  sound 
like  a  tinkling  bell.  Lastly,  when  not  croaking  amid  the 
foliage,  the  Tree-frogs  indulge  in  the  most  graceful 
dives.  And  so,  in  May,  as  soon  as  it  is  dark,  the  pond 
becomes  a  deafening  orchestra:  it  is  impossible  to  talk  at 
table,  impossible  to  sleep.  We  had  to  remedy  this  by 
means  perhaps  a  little  too  rigorous.  What  could  we 
do?  He  who  tries  to  sleep  and  cannot  needs  become 
ruthless. 

Bolder  still,  the  Wasp  has  taken  possession  of  the 
dwelling-house.  On  my  door-sill,  in  a  soil  of  rubbish, 
nestles  the  White-banded  Sphex :  when  I  go  indoors,  I 
must  be  careful  not  to  damage  her  burrows,  not  to  tread 
upon  the  miner  absorbed  in  her  work.  It  is  quite  a 
quarter  of  a  century  since  I  last  saw  the  saucy  Cricket- 
hunter.  When  I  made  her  acquaintance,  I  used  to  visit 
her  at  a  few  miles'  distance :  each  time,  it  meant  an  ex- 
pedition under  the  blazing  August  sun.  To-day  I  find 
her  at  my  door;  we  are  intimate  neighbors.  The  em- 
brasure of  the  closed  window  provides  an  apartment  of  a 
mild  temperature  for  the  Pelopseus.1  The  earth-built 
nest  is  fixed  against  the  freestone  wall.  To  enter  her 
home,  the  Spider-huntress  uses  a  little  hole  left  open  by 
accident  in  the  shutters.  On  the  moldings  of  the  Vene- 
tian blinds,  a  few  stray  Mason-bees  build  their  group  of 
cells ;  inside  the  outer  shutters,  left  ajar,  a  Eumenes  2 

1  A  species  of  Mason-wasp. —  Translator's  Note. 

2  Another  Mason-wasp. —  Translator's  Note. 


14         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

constructs  her  little  earthen  dome,  surmounted  by  a  short, 
bell-mouthed  neck.  The  Common  Wasp  and  the  Polis- 
tes  1  are  my  dinner-guests:  they  visit  my  table  to  see  if 
the  grapes  served  are  as  ripe  as  they  look. 

Here  surely  —  and  the  list  is  far  from  complete  —  is 
a  company  both  numerous  and  select,  whose  conversation 
will  not  fail  to  charm  my  solitude,  if  I  succeed  in  draw- 
ing it  out.  My  dear  beasts  of  former  days,  my  old 
friends,  and  others,  more  recent  acquaintances,  all  are 
here,  hunting,  foraging,  building  in  close  proximity. 
Besides,  should  we  wish  to  vary  the  scene  of  observation, 
the  mountain  2  is  but  a  few  hundred  steps  away,  with 
its  tangle  of  arbutus,  rock-roses  and  arborescent  heather ; 
with  its  sandy  spaces  dear  to  the  Bembeces ;  with  its  marly 
slopes  exploited  by  different  Wasps  and  Bees.  And  that 
is  why,  foreseeing  these  riches,  I  have  abandoned  the 
town  for  the  village  and  come  to  Serignan  to  weed  my 
turnips  and  water  my  lettuces. 

Laboratories  are  being  founded  at  great  expense,  on 
our  Atlantic  and  Mediterranean  coasts,  where  people  cut 
up  small  sea-animals,  of  but  meager  interest  to  us;  they 
spend  a  fortune  on  powerful  microscopes,  delicate  dissect- 
ing-instruments,  engines  of  capture,  boats,  fishing-crews, 
aquariums,  to  find  out  how  the  yolk  of  an  Annelid's3 
egg  is  constructed,  a  question  whereof  I  have  never  yet 
been  able  to  grasp  the  full  importance;  and  they  scorn 

1  A  Wasp  that  builds  her  nest  in  trees.—  Translator's  Note. 

2  Mont  Ventoux,  an  outlying  summit  of  the  Alps,  6,270  feet  high. 
—  Translator's  Note. 

8  A  red-blooded  Worm.—  Translator's  Note. 


THE  HARMAS  15- 

the  little  land-animal,  which  lives  in  constant  touch  with 
us,  which  provides  universal  psychology  with  documents 
of  inestimable  value,  which  too  often  threatens  the  pub- 
lic wealth  by  destroying  our  crops.  When  shall  we  have 
an  entomological  laboratory  for  the  study  not  of  the 
dead  insect,  steeped  in  alcohol,  but  of  the  living  insect; 
a  laboratory  having  for  its  object  the  instinct,  the  habits, 
the  manner  of  living,  the  work,  the  struggles,  the  propa- 
gation of  that  little  world  with  which  agriculture  and 
philosophy  have  most  seriously  to  reckon?  To  know 
thoroughly  the  history  of  the  destroyer  of  our  vines 
might  perhaps  be  more  important  than  to  know  how  this 
or  that  nerve-fiber  of  a  Cirriped  l  ends ;  to  establish  by 
experiment  the  line  of  demarcation  between  intellect  and 
instinct;  to  prove,  by  comparing  facts  in  the  zoological 
progression,  whether  human  reason  be  an  irreducible 
faculty  or  not :  all  this  ought  surely  to  take  precedence  of 
the  number  of  joints  in  a  Crustacean's  antenna.  These 
enormous  questions  would  need  an  army  of  workers ;  and 
we  have  not  one.  The  fashion  is  all  for  the  Mollusc  and 
the  Zoophyte.2  The  depths  of  the  sea  are  explored  with 
many  drag-nets;  the  soil  which  we  tread  is  consistently 
disregarded.  While  waiting  for  the  fashion  to  change, 
I  open  my  harmas  laboratory  of  living  entomology;  and 
this  laboratory  shall  not  cost  the  ratepayers  one  farthing. 

1  Cirripeds    are    sea-animals    with    hair-like   legs,    including   the 
Barnacles  and  Acorn-shells. —  Translator's  Note. 

2  Zoophytes  are  plant-like  sea-animals,  including  Star-fishes,  Jelly- 
fishes,  Sea-anemones,  and  Sponges. —  Translator's  Note. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   GREEN   GRASSHOPPER 

WE  are  in  the  middle  of  July.  The  astronomical  dog- 
days  are  just  beginning;  but  in  reality  the  torrid  season 
has  anticipated  the  calendar  and  for  some  weeks  past  the 
heat  has  been  overpowering. 

This  evening  in  the  village  they  are  celebrating  the 
National  Festival.1  While  the  little  boys  and  girls  are 
hopping  round  a  bonfire  whose  gleams  are  reflected 
upon  the  church-steeple,  while  the  drum  is  pounded  to 
mark  the  ascent  of  each  rocket,  I  am  sitting  alone  in  a 
dark  corner,  in  the  comparative  coolness  that  prevails  at 
nine  o'clock,  harking  to  the  concert  of  the  festival  of  the 
fields,  the  festival  of  the  harvest,  grander  by  far  than  that 
which,  at  this  moment,  is  being  celebrated  in  the  village 
square  with  gunpowder,  lighted  torches,  Chinese  lanterns 
and,  above  all,  strong  drink.  It  has  the  simplicity  of 
beauty  and  the  repose  of  strength. 

It  is  late;  and  the  Cicadae  are  silent  Glutted  with 
light  and  heat,  they  have  indulged  in  symphonies  all  the 
livelong  day.  The  advent  of  the  night  means  rest  for 
them,  but  a  rest  frequently  disturbed.  In  the  dense 
branches  of  the  plane-trees  a  sudden  sound  rings  out  like 

1The  I4th  of  July,  the  anniversary  of  the  fall  of  the  Bastille.— 
Translator's  Note, 

16 


THE  GREEN  GRASSHOPPER  17 

a  cry  of  anguish,  strident  and  short.  It  is  the  desperate 
wail  of  the  Cicada,  surprised  in  his  quietude  by  the 
Green  Grasshopper,  that  ardent  nocturnal  huntress,  who 
springs  upon  him,  grips  him  in  the  side,  opens  and  ran- 
sacks his  abdomen.  An  orgy  of  music,  followed  by 
butchery. 

I  have  never  seen  and  never  shall  see  that  supreme 
expression  of  our  national  revelry,  the  military  review 
at  Longchamp ;  nor  do  I  much  regret  it.  The  newspapers 
tell  me  as  much  about  it  as  I  want  to  know.  They  give 
me  a  sketch  of  the  site.  I  see,  installed  here  and  there 
amid  the  trees,  the  ominous  Red  Cross,  with  the  legend, 
"  Military  Ambulance ;  Civil  Ambulance."  There  will 
be  bones  broken,  apparently;  cases  of  sunstroke;  re- 
grettable deaths,  perhaps.  It  is  all  provided  for  and  all 
in  the  program. 

Even  here,  in  my  village,  usually  so  peaceable,  the 
festival  will  not  end,  I  am  ready  to  wager,  without  the 
exchange  of  a  few  blows,  that  compulsory  seasoning  of 
a  day  of  merry-making.  No  pleasure,  it  appears,  can  be 
fully  relished  without  an  added  condiment  of  pain. 

Let  us  listen  and  meditate  far  from  the  tumult.  While 
the  disemboweled  Cicada  utters  his  protest,  the  festival 
up  there  in  the  plane-trees  is  continued  without  a  change 
of  orchestra.  It  is  now  the  time  of  the  nocturnal  per- 
formers. Hard  by  the  place  of  slaughter,  in  the  green 
bushes,  a  delicate  ear  perceives  the  hum  of  the  Grass- 
hoppers. It  is  the  sort  of  noise  that  a  spinning-wheel 
makes,  a  very  unobtrusive  sound,  a  vague  rustle  of  dry 
membranes  rubbed  together.  Above  this  dull  bass  there 


i8         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

rises,  at  intervals,  a  hurried,  very  shrill,  almost  metallic 
clicking.  There  you  have  the  air  and  the  recitative,  in- 
tersected by  pauses.  The  rest  is  the  accompaniment. 

Despite  the  assistance  of  a  bass,  it  is  a  poor  concert, 
very  poor  indeed,  though  there  are  about  ten  executants 
in  my  immediate  vicinity.  The  tone  lacks  intensity.  My 
old  tympanum  is  not  always  capable  of  perceiving  these 
subtleties  of  sound.  The  little  that  reaches  me  is  ex- 
tremely sweet  and  most  appropriate  to  the  calm  of  twi- 
light. Just  a  little  more  breadth  in  your  bow-stroke, 
my  dear  Green  Grasshopper,  and  your  technique  would 
be  better  than  the  hoarse  Cicada's,  whose  name  and 
reputation  you  have  been  made  to  usurp  in  the  countries 
of  the  north. 

Still,  you  will  never  equal  your  neighbor,  the  little 
bell-ringing  Toad,  who  goes  tinkling  all  round,  at  the  foot 
of  the  plane-trees,  while  you  click  up  above.  He  is  the 
smallest  of  my  batrachian  folk  and  the  most  venturesome 
in  his  expeditions. 

How  often,  at  nightfall,  by  the  last  glimmers  of  day- 
light, have  I  not  come  upon  him  as  I  wandered  through 
my  garden,  hunting  for  ideas!  Something  runs  away, 
rolling  over  and  over  in  front  of  me.  Is  it  a  dead  leaf 
blown  along  by  the  wind  ?  No,  it  is  the  pretty  little  Toad 
disturbed  in  the  midst  of  his  pilgrimage.  He  hurriedly 
takes  shelter  under  a  stone,  a  clod  of  earth,  a  tuft  of 
grass,  recovers  from  his  excitement  and  loses  no  time  in 
picking  up  his  liquid  note. 

On  this  evening  of  national  rejoicing,  there  are  nearly 
a  dozen  of  him  tinkling  against  one  another  around  me. 


THE  GREEN  GRASSHOPPER  19 

Most  of  them  are  crouching  among  the  rows  of  flower- 
pots that  form  a  sort  of  lobby  outside  my  house.  Each 
has  his  own  note,  always  the  same,  lower  in  one  case, 
higher  in  another,  a  short,  clear  note,  melodious  and  of 
exquisite  purity. 

With  their  slow,  rhythmical  cadence,  they  seem  to  be 
intoning  litanies.  Cluck,  says  one;  click,  responds  an- 
other, on  a  finer  note;  clock,  adds  a  third,  the  tenor  of 
the  band.  And  this  is  repeated  indefinitely,  like  the  bells 
of  the  village  pealing  on  a  holiday:  cluck,  click,  clock; 
cluck,  click,  clock! 

The  batrachian  choristers  remind  me  of  a  certain  har- 
monica which  I  used  to  covet  when  my  six-year-old  ear 
began  to  awaken  to  the  magic  of  sounds.  It  consisted 
of  a  series  of  strips  of  glass  of  unequal  length,  hung  on 
two  stretched  tapes.  A  cork  fixed  to  a  wire  served  as  a 
hammer.  Imagine  an  unskilled  hand  striking  at  random 
on  this  key-board,  with  a  sudden  clash  of  octaves,  dis- 
sonances and  topsy-turvy  chords;  and  you  will  have  a 
pretty  clear  idea  of  the  Toads'  litany. 

As  a  song,  this  litany  has  neither  head  nor  tail  to  it; 
as  a  collection  of  pure  sounds,  it  is  delicious.  This  is 
the  case  with  all  the  music  in  nature's  concerts.  Our  ear 
discovers  superb  notes  in  it  and  then  becomes  refined 
and  acquires,  outside  the  realities  of  sound,  that  sense  of 
order  which  is  the  first  condition  of  beauty. 

Now  this  sweet  ringing  of  bells  between  hiding-place 
and  hiding-place  is  the  matrimonial  oratorio,  the  discreet 
summons  which  every  Jack  issues  to  his  Jill.  The  sequel 
to  the  concert  may  be  guessed  without  further  enquiry; 


20         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

but  what  it  would  be  impossible  to  foresee  is  the  strange 
finale  of  the  wedding.  Behold  the  father,  in  this  case  a 
real  paterfamilias,  in  the  noblest  sense  of  the  word, 
coming  out  of  his  retreat  one  day  in  an  unrecognizable 
state.  He  is  carrying  the  future,  tight-packed  around 
his  hind-legs ;  he  is  changing  houses  laden  with  a  cluster 
of  eggs  the  size  of  peppercorns.  His  calves  are  girt,  his 
thighs  are  sheathed  with  the  bulky  burden ;  and  it  covers 
his  back  like  a  beggar's  wallet,  completely  deforming  him. 

Whither  is  he  going,  dragging  himself  along,  incapable 
of  jumping,  thanks  to  the  weight  of  his  load?  He  is 
going,  the  fond  parent,  where  the  mother  refuses  to  go; 
he  is  on  his  way  to  the  nearest  pond,  whose  warm  waters 
are  indispensable  to  the  tadpoles'  hatching  and  existence. 
When  the  eggs  are  nicely  ripened  around  his  legs  under 
the  humid  shelter  of  a  stone,  he  braves  the  damp  and  the 
daylight,  he  the  passionate  lover  of  dry  land  and  dark- 
ness; he  advances  by  short  stages,  his  lungs  congested 
with  fatigue.  The  pond  is  far  away,  perhaps ;  no  matter : 
the  plucky  pilgrim  will  find  it. 

He's  there.  Without  delay,  he  dives,  despite  his  pro- 
found antipathy  to  bathing;  and  the  cluster  of  eggs  is 
instantly  removed*by  the  legs  rubbing  against  each  other. 
The  eggs  are  now  in  their  element;  and  the  rest  will  be 
accomplished  of  itself.  Having  fulfilled  his  obligation  to 
go  right  under,  the  father  hastens  to  return  to  his  well- 
sheltered  home.  He  is  scarcely  out  of  sight  before  the 
little  black  tadpoles  are  hatched  and  playing  about.  They 
were  but  waiting  for  the  contact  of  the  water  in  order  to 
burst  their  shells. 


THE  GREEN  GRASSHOPPER  21 

Among  the  singers  in  the  July  gloaming,  one  alone, 
were  he  able  to  vary  his  notes,  could  vie  with  the  Toad's 
harmonious  bells.  This  is  the  little  Scops-owl,  that 
comely  nocturnal  bird  of  prey,  with  the  round  gold  eyes. 
He  sports  on  his  forehead  two  small  feathered  horns 
which  have  won  for  him  in  the  district  the  name  of 
Machoto  banarudo,  the  Horned  Owl.  His  song,  which 
is  rich  enough  to  fill  by  itself  the  still  night  air,  is  of  a 
nerve-shattering  monotony.  With  imperturbable  and 
measured  regularity,  for  hours  on  end,  kew,  kew,  the  bird 
spits  out  its  cantata  to  the  moon. 

One  of  them  has  arrived  at  this  moment,  driven  from 
the  plane-trees  in  the  square  by  the  din  of  the  rejoicings, 
to  demand  my  hospitality.  I  can  hear  him  in  the  top 
of  a  cypress  near  by.  From  up  there,  dominating  the 
lyrical  assembly,  at  regular  intervals  he  cuts  into  the 
vague  orchestration  of  the  Grasshoppers  and  the  Toads. 

His  soft  note  is  contrasted,  intermittently,  with  a  sort 
of  Cat's  mew,  coming  from  another  spot.  This  is  the 
call  of  the  Common  Owl,  the  meditative  bird  of  Minerva. 
After  hiding  all  day  in  the  seclusion  of  a  hollow  olive- 
tree,  he  started  on  his  wanderings  when  the  shades  of 
evening  began  to  fall.  Swinging  along  with  a  sinuous 
flight,  he  came  from  somewhere  in  the  neighborhood  to 
the  pines  in  my  enclosure,  whence  he  mingles  his  harsh 
mewing,  slightly  softened  by  distance,  with  the  general 
concert. 

The  Green  Grasshopper's  clicking  is  too  faint  to  be 
clearly  perceived  amidst  these  clamorers ;  all  that  reaches 
me  is  the  least  ripple,  just  noticeable  when  there  is  a  mo- 


22         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

merit's  silence.  He  possesses  as  his  apparatus  of  sound 
only  a  modest  drum  and  scraper,  whereas  they,  more 
highly  privileged,  have  their  bellows,  the  lungs,  which 
send  forth  a  column  of  vibrating  air.  There  is  no  com- 
parison possible. 

Let  us  return  to  the  insects. 

One  of  these,  though  inferior  in  size  and  no  less  spar- 
ingly equipped,  greatly  surpasses  the  Grasshopper  in 
nocturnal  rhapsodies.  I  speak  of  the  pale  and  slender 
Italian  Cricket  (CEcanthus  pellucens,  Scop.),  who  is  so 
puny  that  you  dare  not  take  him  up  for  fear  of  crushing 
him.  He  makes  music  everywhere  among  the  rosemary- 
bushes,  while  the  Glow-worms  light  up  their  blue  lamps 
to  complete  the  revels.  The  delicate  instrumentalist  con- 
sists chiefly  of  a  pair  of  large  wings,  thin  and  gleam- 
ing as  strips  of  mica.  Thanks  to  these  dry  sails,  he 
fiddles  away  with  an  intensity  capable  of  drowning  the 
Toads'  fugue.  His  performance  suggests,  but  with  more 
brilliancy,  more  tremolo  in  the  execution,  the  song  of  the 
Common  Black  Cricket.  Indeed  the  mistake  would  cer- 
tainly be  made  by  any  one  who  did  not  know  that,  by  the 
time  the  very  hot  weather  comes,  the  true  Cricket,  the 
chorister  of  spring,  has  disappeared.  His  pleasant  violin 
has  been  succeeded  by  another  more  pleasant  still  and 
worthy  of  special  study.  We  shall  return  to  him  at  an 
opportune  moment. 

These  then,  limiting  ourselves  to  select  specimens,  are 
the  principal  participants  in  this  musical  evening:  the 
Scops-owl,  with  his  languorous  solos;  the  Toad,  that 
tinkler  of  sonatas;  the  Italian  Cricket,  who  scrapes  the 


THE  GREEN  GRASSHOPPER  23 

first  string  of  a  violin;  and  the  Green  Grasshopper,  who 
seems  to  beat  a  tiny  steel  triangle. 

We  are  celebrating  to-day,  with  greater  uproar  than 
conviction,  the  new  era,  dating  politically  from  the  fall 
of  the  Bastille ;  they,  with  glorious  indifference  to  human 
things,  are  celebrating  the  festival  of  the  sun,  singing  the 
happiness  of  existence,  sounding  the  loud  hosanna  of  the 
July  heats. 

What  care  they  for  man  and  his  fickle  rejoicings !  For 
whom  or  for  what  will  our  squibs  be  spluttering  a  few 
years  hence  ?  Far-seeing  indeed  would  he  be  who  could 
answer  the  question.  Fashions  change  and  bring  us  the 
unexpected.  The  time-serving  rocket  spreads  its  sheaf 
of  sparks  for  the  public  enemy  of  yesterday,  who  has 
become  the  idol  of  to-day.  To-morrow  it  will  go  up  for 
somebody  else. 

In  a  century  or  two,  will  any  one,  outside  the  histori- 
ans, give  a  thought  to  the  taking  of  the  Bastille?  It  is 
very  doubtful.  We  shall  have  other  joys  and  also  other 
cares. 

Let  us  look  a  little  farther  ahead.  A  day  will  come, 
so  everything  seems  to  tell  us,  when,  after  making  prog- 
ress upon  progress,  man  will  succumb,  destroyed  by  the 
excess  of  what  he  calls  civilization.  Too  eager  to  play 
the  god,  he  cannot  hope  for  the  animal's  placid  longevity ; 
he  will  have  disappeared  when  the  little  Toad  is  still 
saying  his  litany,  in  company  with  the  Grasshopper,  the 
Scops-owl  and  the  others.  They  were  singing  on  this 
planet  before  us ;  they  will  sing  after  us,  celebrating  what 
can  never  change,  the  fiery  glory  of  the  sun. 


24         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

I  will  dwell  no  longer  on  this  festival  and  will  become 
once  more  the  naturalist,  anxious  to  obtain  information 
concerning  the  private  life  of  the  insect.  The  Green 
Grasshopper  (Locust a  viridissima,  Lin.)  does  not  appear 
to  be  common  in  my  neighborhood.  Last  year,  intending 
to  make  a  study  of  this  insect  and  finding  my  efforts 
to  hunt  it  fruitless,  I  was  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  the 
good  offices  of  a  forest-ranger,  who  sent  me  a  pair  of 
couples  from  the  Lagarde  plateau,  that  bleak  district 
where  the  beech-tree  begins  its  escalade  of  the  Ventoux. 

Now  and  then  freakish  fortune  takes  it  into  her  head 
to  smile  upon  the  persevering.  What  was  not  to  be 
found  last  year  has  become  almost  common  this  summer. 
Without  leaving  my  narrow  enclosure,  I  obtain  as  many 
Grasshoppers  as  I  could  wish.  I  hear  them  rustling  at 
night  in  the  green  thickets.  Let  us  make  the  most  of  the 
windfall,  which  perhaps  will  not  occur  again. 

In  the  month  of  June  my  treasures  are  installed,  in  a 
sufficient  number  of  couples,  under  a  wire  cover  stand- 
ing on  a  bed  of  sand  in  an  earthen  pan.  It  is  indeed  a 
magnificent  insect,  pale-green  all  over,  with  two  whitish 
stripes  running  down  its  sides.  Its  imposing  size,  its 
slim  proportions  and  its  great  gauze  wings  make  it  the 
most  elegant  of  our  Locustidae.  I  am  enraptured  with  my 
captives.  What  will  they  teach  me?  We  shall  see 
For  the  moment,  we  must  feed  them. 

I  offer  the  prisoners  a  leaf  of  lettuce.  They  bite  into 
it,  certainly,  but  very  sparingly  and  with  a  scornful  tooth. 
It  soon  becomes  plain  that  I  am  dealing  with  half-hearted 
vegetarians.  They  want  something  else :  they  are  beasts 


THE  GREEN  GRASSHOPPER  25 

of  prey,  apparently.  But  what  manner  of  prey?  A 
lucky  chance  taught  me. 

At  break  of  day  I  was  pacing  up  and  down  outside  my 
door,  when  something  fell  from  the  nearest  plane-tree 
with  a  shrill  grating  sound.  I  ran  up  and  saw  a  Grass- 
hopper gutting  the  belly  of  a  struggling  Cicada.  In  vain 
the  victim  buzzed  and  waved  his  limbs :  the  other  did  not 
let  go,  dipping  her  head  right  into  the  entrails  and  root- 
ing them  out  by  small  mouth  fuls. 

I  knew  what  I  wanted  to  know :  the  attack  had  taken 
place  up  above,  early  in  the  morning,  while  the  Cicada 
was  asleep;  and  the  plunging  of  the  poor  wretch,  dis- 
sected alive,  had  made  assailant  and  assailed  fall  in  a 
bundle  to  the  ground.  Since  then  I  have  repeatedly  had 
occasion  to  witness  similar  carnage. 

I  have  even  seen  the  Grasshopper  —  the  height  of 
audacity,  this  —  dart  in  pursuit  of  a  Cicada  in  mad 
flight.  Even  so  does  the  Sparrow-hawk  pursue  the 
Swallow  in  the  sky.  But  the  bird  of  prey  here  is  inferior 
to  the  insect.  It  attacks  a  weaker  than  itself.  The 
Grasshopper,  on  the  other  hand,  assaults  a  colossus,  much 
larger  than  herself  and  stronger;  and  nevertheless  the 
result  of  the  unequal  fight  is  not  in  doubt.  The  Grass- 
hopper rarely  fails  with  the  sharp  pliers  of  her  powerful 
jaws  to  disembowel  her  capture,  which,  being  unprovided 
with  weapons,  confines  itself  to  crying  out  and  kicking. 

The  main  thing  is  to  retain  one's  hold  of  the  prize, 
which  is  not  difficult  in  somnolent  darkness.  Any  Cicada 
encountered  by  the  fierce  Locustid  on  her  nocturnal 
rounds  is  bound  to  die  a  lamentable  death.  This  explains 


26         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

those  sudden  agonized  notes  which  grate  through  the 
woods  at  late,  unseasonable  hours,  when  the  cymbals  have 
long  been  silent.  The  murderess  in  her  suit  of  apple- 
green  has  pounced  on  some  sleeping  Cicada. 

My  boarders'  menu  is  settled:  I  will  feed  them  on 
Cicadae.  They  take  such  a  liking  to  this  fare  that,  in  two 
or  three  weeks,  the  floor  of  the  cage  is  a  knacker's  yard 
strewn  with  heads  and  empty  thoraces,  with  torn-off 
wings  and  disjointed  legs.  The  belly  alone  disappears 
almost  entirely.  This  is  the  tit-bit,  not  very  substantial, 
but  extremely  tasty,  it  would  seem.  Here,  in  fact,  in  the 
insect's  crop,  the  syrup  is  accumulated,  the  sugary  sap 
which  the  Cicada's  gimlet  taps  from  the  tender  bark. 
Is  it  because  of  this  dainty  that  the  prey's  abdomen  is 
preferred  to  any  other  morsel  ?  It  is  quite  possible. 

I  do,  in  fact,  with  a  view  to  varying  the  diet,  decide  to 
serve  up  some  very  sweet  fruits,  slices  of  pear,  grape- 
pips,  bits  of  melon.  All  this  meets  with  delighted  appre- 
ciation. The  Green  Grasshopper  resembles  the  English : 
she  dotes  on  underdone  meat  seasoned  with  jelly.  This 
perhaps  is  why,  on  catching  the  Cicada,  she  first  rips  up 
his  paunch,  which  supplies  a  mixture  of  flesh  and  pre- 
serves. 

To  eat  Cicadae  and  sugar  is  not  possible  in  every  part 
of  the  country.  In  the  north,  where  she  abounds,  the 
Green  Grasshopper  would  not  find  the  dish  which  at- 
tracts her  so  strongly  here.  She  must  have  other 
resources.  To  convince  myself  of  this,  I  give  her 
Anoxiae  (A.  pilosa,  Fab.),  the  summer  equivalent  of  the 
spring  Cockchafer.  The  Beetle  is  accepted  without  hesi- 


THE  GREEN  GRASSHOPPER  27 

tation.  Nothing  is  left  of  him  but  the  wing-cases,  head 
and  legs.  The  result  is  the  same  with  the  magnificent 
plump  Pine  Cockchafer  (Melolontha  fullo,  Lin.),  a 
sumptuous  morsel  which  I  find  next  day  eviscerated  by 
my  gang  of  knackers. 

These  examples  teach  us  enough.  They  tell  us  that 
the  Grasshopper  is  an  inveterate  consumer  of  insects, 
especially  of  those  which  are  not  protected  by  too  hard 
a  cuirass;  they  are  evidence  of  tastes  which  are  highly 
carnivorous,  but  not  exclusively  so,  like  those  of  the 
Praying  Mantis,  who  refuses  everything  except  game. 
The  butcher-  of  the  Cicadae  is  able  to  modify  an  exces- 
sively heating  diet  with  vegetable  fare.  After  meat  and 
blood,  sugary  fruit-pulp;  sometimes  even,  for  lack  of 
anything  better,  a  little  green  stuff. 

Nevertheless,  cannibalism  is  prevalent.  True,  I  never 
witness  in  my  Grasshopper-cages  the  savagery  which  is 
so  common  in  the  Praying  Mantis,  who  harpoons  her 
rivals  and  devours  her  lovers ;  but,  if  some  weakling  suc- 
cumb, the  survivors  hardly  ever  fail  to  profit  by  his  car- 
cass as  they  would  in  the  case  of  any  ordinary  prey. 
With  no  scarcity  of  provisions  as  an  excuse,  they  feast 
upon  their  defunct  companion.  For  the  rest,  all  the 
saber-bearing  clan  display,  in  varying  degrees,  a  pro- 
pensity for  filling  their  bellies  with  their  maimed  com- 
rades. 

In  other  respects,  the  Grasshoppers  live  together  very 
peacefully  in  my  cages.  No  serious  strife  ever  takes 
place  among  them,  nothing  beyond  a  little  rivalry  in  the 
matter  of  food.  I  hand  in  a  piece  of  pear.  A  Grass- 


28         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

hopper  alights  on  it  at  once.  Jealously  she  kicks  away 
any  one  trying  to  bite  at  the  delicious  morsel.  Selfish- 
ness reigns  everywhere.  When  she  has  eaten  her  fill, 
she  makes  way  for  another,  who  in  her  turn  becomes 
intolerant.  One  after  the  other,  all  the  inmates  of  the 
menagerie  come  and  refresh  themselves.  After  cram- 
ming their  crops,  they  scratch  the  soles  of  their  feet  a 
little  with  their  mandibles,  polish  up  their  forehead  and 
eyes  with  a  leg  moistened  with  spittle  and  then,  hanging 
to  the  trellis-work  or  lying  on  the  sand  in  a  posture  of 
contemplation,  blissfully  they  digest  and  slumber  most 
of  the  day,  especially  during  the  hottest  part  of  it. 

It  is  in  the  evening,  after  sunset,  that  the  troop  becomes 
lively.  By  nine  o'clock  the  animation  is  at  its  height. 
With  sudden  rushes  they  clamber  to  the  top  of  the  dome, 
to  descend  as  hurriedly  and  climb  up  once  more.  They 
come  and  go  tumultuously,  run  and  hop  around  the  cir- 
cular track  and,  without  stopping,  nibble  at  the  good 
things  on  the  way. 

The  males  are  stridulating  by  themselves,  here  and 
there,  teasing  the  passing  fair  with  their  antennae.  The 
future  mothers  stroll  about  gravely,  with  their  saber  half- 
raised.  The  agitation  and  feverish  excitement  means 
that  the  great  business  of  pairing  is  at  hand.  The  fact 
will  escape  no  practised  eye. 

It  is  also  what  I  particularly  wish  to  observe.  My 
wish  is  satisfied,  but  not  fully,  for  the  late  hours  at  which 
events  take  place  did  not  allow  me  to  witness  the  final 
act  of  the  wedding.  It  is  late  at  night  or  early  in  the 
morning  that  things  happen. 


THE  GREEN  GRASSHOPPER  29 

The  little  that  I  see  is  confined  to  interminable  pre- 
ludes. Standing  face  to  face,  with  foreheads  almost 
touching,  the  lovers  feel  and  sound  each  other  for  a  long 
time  with  their  limp  antennae.  They  suggest  two  fencers 
crossing  and  recrossing  harmless  foils.  From  time  to 
time,  the  male  stridulates  a  little,  gives  a  few  short  strokes 
of  the  bow  and  then  falls  silent,  feeling  perhaps  too  much 
overcome  to  continue.  Eleven  o'clock  strikes;  and  the 
declaration  is  not  yet  over.  Very  regretfully,  but  con- 
quered by  sleepiness,  I  quit  the  couple. 

Next  morning,  early,  the  female  carries,  hanging  at 
the  bottom  of  her  ovipositor,  a  queer  bladder-like  ar- 
rangement, an  opaline  capsule,  the  size  of  a  large  pea  and 
roughly  subdivided  into  a  small  number  of  egg-shaped 
vesicles.  When  the  insect  walks,  the  thing  scrapes  along 
the  ground  and  becomes  dirty  with  sticky  grains  of  sand. 
The  Grasshopper  then  makes  a  banquet  off  this  fertilizing 
capsule,  drains  it  slowly  of  its  contents,  and  devours  it 
bit  by  bit;  for  a  long  time  she  chews  and  rechews  the 
gummy  morsel  and  ends  by  swallowing1  it  all  down.  In 
less  than  half  a  day,  the  milky  burden  has  disappeared, 
consumed  with  zest  down  to  the  last  atom. 

This  inconceivable  banquet  must  be  imported,  one 
would  think,  from  another  planet,  so  far  removed  is  it 
from  earthly  habits.  What  a  singular  race  are  the 
Locustidse,  one  of  the  oldest  in  the  animal  kingdom  on 
dry  land  and,  like  the  Scolopendra  and  the  Cephalopod, 
acting  as  a  belated  representative  of  the  manners  of  an- 
tiquity ! 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   EMPUSA 

THE  sea,  life's  first  foster-mother,  still  preserves  in  her 
depths  many  of  those  singular  and  incongruous  shapes 
which  were  the  earliest  attempts  of  the  animal  kingdom ; 
the  land,  less  fruitful,  but  with  more  capacity  for  prog- 
ress, has  almost  wholly  lost  the  strange  forms  of  other 
days.  The  few  that  remain  belong  especially  to  the  series 
of  primitive  insects,  insects  exceedingly  limited  in  their 
industrial  powers  and  subject  to  very  summary  metamor- 
phoses, if  to  any  at  all.  In  my  district,  in  the  front  rank 
of  those  entomological  anomalies  which  remind  us  of  the 
denizens  of  the  old  coal-forests,  stand  the  Mantidae, 
including  the  Praying  Mantis,  so  curious  in  habits  and 
structure.  Here  also  is  the  Empusa  (E.  pauperata, 
Latr.),  the  subject  of  this  chapter. 

Her  larva  is  certainly  the  strangest  creature  among 
the  terrestrial  fauna  of  Provence :  a  slim  swaying  thing 
of  so  fantastic  an  appearance  that  uninitiated  fingers  dare 
not  lay  hold  of  it.  The  children  of  my  neighborhood, 
impressed  by  its  startling  shape,  call  it  "  the  Devilkin." 
In  their  imaginations,  the  queer  little  creature  savors  of 
witchcraft.  One  comes  across  it,  though  always  sparsely, 
in  spring,  up  to  May;  in  autumn;  and  sometimes  in 
winter,  if  the  sun  be  strong.  The  tough  grasses  of  the 
waste-lands,  the  stunted  bushes  which  catch  the  sun  and 
30 


THE  EMPUSA  31 

are  sheltered  from  the  wind  by  a  few  heaps  of  stones  are 
the  chilly  Empusa's  favorite  abode. 

Let  us  give  a  rapid  sketch  of  her.  The  abdomen, 
which  always  curls  up  so  as  to  join  the  back,  spreads 
paddlewise  and  twists  into  a  crook.  Pointed  scales,  a 
sort  of  foliaceous  expansions  arranged  in  three  rows, 
cover  the  lower  surface,  which  becomes  the  upper  sur- 
face because  of  the  crook  aforesaid.  The  scaly  crook  is 
propped  on  four  long,  thin  stilts,  on  four  legs  armed  with 
knee-pieces,  that  is  to  say,  carrying  at  the  end  of  the 
thigh,  where  it  joins  the  shin,  a  curved,  projecting  blade 
not  unlike  that  of  a  cleaver. 

Above  this  base,  this  four-legged  stool,  rises,  at  a  sud- 
den angle,  the  stiff  corselet,  disproportionately  long  and 
almost  perpendicular.  The  end  of  this  bust,  round  and 
slender  as  a  straw,  carries  the  hunting-trap,  the  grappling 
limbs,  copied  from  those  of  the  Mantis.  They  consist 
of  a  terminal  harpoon,  sharper  than  a  needle,  and  a 
cruel  vice,  with  the  jaws  toothed  like  a  saw.  The  jaw 
formed  by  the  arm  proper  is  hollowed  into  a  groove  and 
carries  on  either  side  five  long  spikes,  with  smaller  in- 
dentations in  between.  The  jaw  formed  by  the  fore- 
arm is  similarly  furrowed,  but  its  double  saw,  which  fits 
into  the  groove  of  the  upper  arm  when  at  rest,  is  formed 
of  finer,  closer  and  more  regular  teeth.  The  magnifying- 
glass  reveals  a  score  of  equal  points  in  each  row.  The 
machine  only  lacks  size  to  be  a  fearful  implement  of  tor- 
ture. 

The  head  is  in  keeping  with  this  arsenal.  What  a 
queer-shaped  head  it  is!  A  pointed  face,  with  walrus 


32         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

mustaches  furnished  by  the  palpi ;  large  goggle  eyes,  be- 
tween them,  a  dirk,  a  halberd  blade;  and,  on  the  fore- 
head a  mad,  unheard-of  thing:  a  sort  of  tall  miter,  an 
extravagant  head-dress  that  juts  forward,  spreading 
right  and  left  into  peaked  wings  and  cleft  along  the  top. 
What  does  the  Devilkin  want  with  that  monstrous  pointed 
cap,  than  which  no  wise  man  of  the  East,  no  astrologer 
of  old  ever  wore  a  more  splendiferous?  This  we  shall 
learn  when  we  see  her  out  hunting. 

The  dress  is  commonplace;  gray  tints  predominate. 
Towards  the  end  of  the  larval  period,  after  a  few  moult- 
ings,  it  begins  to  give  a  glimpse  of  the  adult's  richer 
livery  and  becomes  striped,  still  very  faintly,  with  pale- 
green,  white  and  pink.  Already  the  two  sexes  are  dis- 
tinguished by  their  antennae.  Those  of  the  future 
mothers  are  thread-like;  those  of  the  future  males  are 
distended  into  a  spindle  at  the  lower  half,  forming  a 
case  or  sheath  whence  graceful  plumes  will  spring  at  a 
later  date. 

Behold  the  creature,  worthy  of  a  Callot's  *  fantastic 
pencil.  If  you  come  across  it  in  the  bramble-bushes,  it 
sways  upon  its  four  stilts,  it  wags  its  head,  it  looks  at  you 
with  a  knowing  air,  it  twists  its  miter  round  and  peers 
over  its  shoulder.  You  seem  to  read  mischief  in  its 
pointed  face.  You  try  to  take  hold  of  it.  The  imposing 
attitude  ceases  forthwith,  the  raised  corselet  is  lowered 
and  the  creature  makes  off  with  mighty  strides,  helping 
itself  along  with  its  fighting-limbs,  which  clutch  the  twigs. 

1  Jacques  Callot  (1592-1635),  the  French  engraver  and  painter, 
famed  for  the  grotesque  nature  of  his  subjects. —  Translator's  Note. 


THE  EMPUSA  33 

The  flight  need  not  last  long,  if  you  have  a  practised  eye. 
The  Empusa  is  captured,  put  into  a  screw  of  paper,  which 
will  save  her  frail  limbs  from  sprains,  and  lastly  penned 
in  a  wire-gauze  cage.  In  this  way,  in  October,  I  obtain 
a  flock  sufficient  for  my  purpose. 

How  to  feed  them  ?  My  Devilkins  are  very  little ;  they 
are  a  month  or  two  old  at  most.  I  give  them  Locusts 
suited  to  their  size,  the  smallest  that  I  can  find.  They 
refuse  them.  Nay,  more,  they  are  frightened  of  them. 
Should  a  thoughtless  Locust  meekly  approach  one  of  the 
Empusse,  suspended  by  her  four  hind-legs  to  the  trellised 
dome,  the  intruder  meets  with  a  bad  reception.  The 
pointed  miter  is  lowered ;  and  an  angry  thrust  sends  him 
rolling.  We  have  it:  the  wizard's  cap  is  a  defensive 
weapon,  a  protective  crest.  The  Ram  charges  with  his 
forehead,  the  Empusa  butts  with  her  miter. 

But  this  does  not  mean  dinner.  I  serve  up  the  House- 
fly, alive.  She  is  accepted,  without  hesitation.  The 
moment  that  the  Fly  comes  within  reach,  the  watchful 
Devilkin  turns  her  head,  bends  the  stalk  of  her  corselet 
slantwise  and,  flinging  out  her  fore-limb,  harpoons  the 
Fly  and  grips  her  between  her  two  saws.  No  Cat  pounc- 
ing upon  a  Mouse  could  be  quicker. 

The  game,  however  small,  is  enough  for  a  meal.  It  is 
enough  for  the  whole  day,  often  for  several  days.  This 
is  my  first  surprise :  the  extreme  abstemiousness  of  these 
fiercely-armed  insects.  I  was  prepared  for  ogres:  I 
find  ascetics  satisfied  with  a  meager  collation  at  rare  in- 
tervals. A  Fly  fills  their  belly  for  twenty-four  hours  at 
least. 


34         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

Thus  passes  the  late  autumn:  the  Empusse,  more  and 
more  temperate  from  day  to  day,  hang  motionless  from 
the  wire  gauze.  Their  natural  abstinence  is  my  best  ally, 
for  Flies  grow  scarce;  and  a  time  comes  when  I  should 
be  hard  put  to  it  to  keep  the  menageries  supplied  with  pro- 
visions. 

During  the  three  winter  months,  nothing  stirs.  From 
time  to  time,  on  fine  days,  I  expose  the  cage  to  the  sun's 
rays,  in  the  window.  Under  the  influence  of  this  heat- 
bath,  the  captives  stretch  their  legs  a  little,  sway  from 
side  to  side,  make  up  their  minds  to  move  about,  but 
without  displaying  any  awakening  appetite.  The  rare 
Midges  that  fall  to  my  assiduous  efforts  do  not  appear 
to  tempt  them.  It  is  a  rule  for  them  to  spend  the  cold 
season  in  a  state  of  complete  abstinence. 

My  cages  tell  me  what  must  happen  outside,  during 
the  winter.  Ensconced  in  the  crannies  of  the  rockwork, 
in  the  sunniest  places,  the  young  Empusse  wait,  in  a  state 
of  torpor,  for  the  return  of  the  hot  weather.  Notwith- 
standing the  shelter  of  a  heap  of  stones,  there  must  be 
painful  moments  when  the  frost  is  prolonged  and  the 
snow  penetrates  little  by  little  into  the  best-protected 
crevices.  No  matter :  hardier  than  they  look,  the  refugees 
escape  the  dangers  of  the  winter  season.  Sometimes, 
when  the  sun  is  strong,  they  venture  out  of  their  hiding- 
place  and  come  to  see  if  spring  be  nigh. 

Spring  conies.  We  are  in  March.  My  prisoners  be- 
stir themselves,  change  their  skin.  They  need  victuals. 
My  catering  difficulties  recommence.  The  House-fly,  so 
easy  to  catch,  is  lacking  in  these  days.  I  fall  back  upon 


THE  EMPUSA  35 

earlier  Diptera:  Eristales,  or  Drone-flies.  The  Em- 
pusa  refuses  them.  They  are  too  big  for  her  and  can 
offer  too  strenuous  a  resistance.  She  wards  off  their  ap- 
proach with  blows  of  her  miter. 

A  few  tender  morsels,  in  the  shape  of  very  young 
Grasshoppers,  are  readily  accepted.  Unfortunately, 
such  windfalls  do  not  often  find  their  way  into  my  sweep- 
ing-net. Abstinence  becomes  obligatory  until  the  arrival 
of  the  first  Butterflies.  Henceforth,  Pieris  brassica,  the 
White  Cabbage  Butterfly,  will  contribute  the  greater  por- 
tion of  the  victuals. 

Let  loose  in  the  wire  cage,  the  Pieris  is  regarded  as 
excellent  game.  The  Empusa  lies  in  wait  for  her,  seizes 
her,  but  releases  her  at  once,  lacking  the  strength  to  over- 
power her.  The  Butterfly's  great  wings,  beating  the  air, 
give  her  shock  after  shock  and  compel  her  to  let  go.  I 
come  to  the  weakling's  assistance  and  cut  the  wings  of 
her  prey  with  my  scissors.  The  maimed  ones,  still  full 
of  life,  clamber  up  the  trellis-work  and  are  forthwith 
grabbed  by  the  Empusae,  who,  in  no  way  frightened  by 
their  protests,  crunch  them  up.  The  dish  is  to  their  taste 
and,  moreover,  plentiful,  so  much  so  that  there  are  al- 
ways some  despised  remnants. 

The  head  only  and  the  upper  portion  of  the  breast  are 
devoured:  the  rest  —  the  plump  abdomen,  the  best  part 
of  the  thorax,  the  legs  and  lastly,  of  course,  the  wing- 
stumps —  is  flung  aside  untouched.  Does  this  mean 
that  the  tenderest  and  most  succulent  morsels  are  chosen? 
No,  for  the  belly  is  certainly  more  juicy ;  and  the  Empusa 
refuses  it,  though  she  eats  up  her  House-fly  to  the  last 


36         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

particle.  It  is  a  strategy  of  war.  I  am  again  in  the 
presence  of  a  neck-specialist  as  expert  as  the  Mantis  her- 
self in  the  art  of  swiftly  slaying  a  victim  that  struggles 
and,  in  struggling,  spoils  the  meal. 

Once  warned,  I  soon  perceive  that  the  game,  be  it  Fly, 
Locust,  Grasshopper,  or  Butterfly,  is  always  struck  in  the 
neck,  from  behind.  The  first  bite  is  aimed  at  the  point 
containing  the  cervical  ganglia  and  produces  sudden  death 
or  immobility.  Complete  inertia  will  leave  the  consumer 
in  peace,  the  essential  condition  of  every  satisfactory  re- 
past. 

The  Devilkin,  therefore,  frail  though  she  be,  possesses 
the  secret  of  immediately  destroying  the  resistance  of 
her  prey.  She  bites  at  the  back  of  the  neck  first,  in  order 
to  give  the  finishing  stroke.  She  goes  on  nibbling  around 
the  original  attacking-point.  In  this  way  the  Butterfly's 
head  and  the  upper  part  of  the  breast  are  disposed  of. 
But,  by  that  time,  the  huntress  is  surfeited :  she  wants  so 
little !  The  rest  lies  on  the  ground,  disdained,  not  for 
lack  of  flavor,  but  because  there  is  too  much  of  it.  A 
Cabbage  Butterfly  far  exceeds  the  capacity  of  the  Em- 
pusa's  stomach.  The  Ants  will  benefit  by  what  is  left. 

There  is  one  other  matter  to  be  mentioned,  before 
observing1  the  metamorphosis.  The  position  adopted  by 
the  young  Empusse  in  the  wire-gauze  cage  is  invariably 
the  same  from  start  to  finish.  Gripping  the  trellis-work 
by  the  claws  of  its  four  hind-legs,  the  insect  occupies  the 
top  of  the  dome  and  hangs  motionless,  back  downwards, 
with  the  whole  of  its  body  supported  by  the  four  suspen- 
sion-points. If  it  wishes  to  move,  the  front  harpoons 


THE  EMPUSA  37 

open,  stretch  out,  grasp  a  mesh  and  draw  it  to  them. 
When  the  short  walk  is  over,  the  lethal  arms  are  brought 
back  against  the  chest.  One  may  say  that  it  is  nearly 
always  the  four  hind-shanks  which  alone  support  the 
suspended  insect. 

And  this  reversed  position,  which  seems  to  us  so  try- 
ing, lasts  for  no  short  while :  it  is  prolonged,  in  my  cages, 
for  ten  months  without  a  break.  The  Fly  on  the  ceiling, 
it  is  true,  occupies  the  same  attitude;  but  she  has  her 
moments  of  rest :  she  flies,  she  walks  in  a  normal  posture, 
she  spreads  herself  flat  in  the  sun.  Besides,  her  acrobatic 
feats  do  not  cover  a  long  period.  The  Empusa,  on  the 
other  hand,  maintains  her  curious  equilibrium  for  ten 
months  on  end,  without  a  break.  Hanging  from  the 
trellis-work,  back  downwards,  she  hunts,  eats,  digests, 
doses,  casts  her  skin,  undergoes  her  transformation, 
mates,  lays  her  eggs  and  dies.  She  clambered  up  there 
when  she  was  still  quite  young;  she  falls  down,  full  of 
days,  a  corpse. 

Things  do  not  happen  exactly  like  this  under  natural 
conditions.  The  insect  stands  on  the  bushes  back  up- 
wards; it  keeps  its  balance  in  the  regular  attitude  and 
turns  over  only  in  circumstances  that  occur  at  long  in- 
tervals. The  protracted  suspension  of  my  captives  is  all 
the  more  remarkable  inasmuch  as  it  is  not  at  all  an  innate 
habit  of  their  race. 

It  reminds  one  of  the  Bats,  who  hang,  head  down- 
wards, by  their  hind-legs  from  the  roof  of  their  caves. 
A  special  formation  of  the  toes  enables  birds  to  sleep  on 
one  leg,  which  automatically  and  without  fatigue  clutches 


38         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

the  swaying  bough.  The  Empusa  shows  me  nothing  akin 
to  their  contrivance.  The  extremity  of  her  walking-legs 
has  the  ordinary  structure:  a  double  claw  at  the  tip,  a 
double  steelyard-hook ;  and  that  is  all. 

I  could  wish  that  anatomy  would  show  me  the  working 
of  the  muscles  and  nerves  in  those  tarsi,  in  those  legs 
more  slender  than  threads,  the  action  of  the  tendons  that 
control  the  claws  and  keep  them  gripped  for  ten  months, 
unwearied  in  waking  and  sleeping.  If  some  dexterous 
scalpel  should  ever  investigate  this  problem,  I  can  recom- 
mend another,  even  more  singular  than  that  of  the  Em- 
pusa, the  Bat  and  the  bird.  I  refer  to  the  attitude  of 
certain  Wasps  and  Bees  during  the  night's  rest. 

An  Ammophila  with  red  fore-legs  (A.  holosericea)  is 
plentiful  in  my  enclosure  towards  the  end  of  August  and 
selects  a  certain  lavender-border  for  her  dormitory.  At 
dusk,  especially  after  a  stifling  day,  when  a  storm  is 
brewing,  I  am  sure  to  find  the  strange  sleeper  settled 
there.  Never  was  more  eccentric  attitude  adopted  for  a 
night's  rest !  The  mandibles  bite  right  into  the  lavender- 
stem.  Its  square  shape  supplies  a  firmer  hold  than  a 
round  stalk  would  do.  With  this  one  and  one  only  prop, 
the  animal's  body  juts  out  stiffly,  at  full  length,  with  legs 
folded.  It  forms  a  right  angle  with  the  supporting  axis, 
so  much  so  that  the  whole  weight  of  the  insect,  which  has 
turned  itself  into  the  arm  of  a  lever  rests  upon  the  mandi- 
bles. 

The  Ammophila  sleeps  extended  in  space  by  virtue  of 
her  mighty  jaws.  It  takes  an  animal  to  think  of  a  thing 
like  that,  which  upsets  all  our  preconceived  ideas  of  re- 


THE  EMPUSA  39 

pose.  Should  the  threatening  storm  burst,  should  the 
stalk  sway  in  the  wind,  the  sleeper  is  not  troubled  by  her 
swinging  hammock;  at  most,  she  presses  her  forelegs 
for  a  moment  against  the  tossed  mast.  As  soon  as  equi- 
librium is  restored,  the  favorite  posture,  that  of  the  hori- 
zontal lever,  is  resumed.  Perhaps  the  mandibles,  like  the 
bird's  toes,  possess  the  faculty  of  gripping  tighter  in  pro- 
portion to  the  rocking  of  the  wind. 

The  Ammophila  is  not  the  only  one  to  sleep  in  this 
singular  position,  which  is  copied  by  many  others  — 
Anthidia,1  Odyneri,2  Eucerae3 — and  mainly  by  the 
males.  All  grip  a  stalk  with  their  mandibles  and  sleep 
with  their  bodies  outstretched  and  their  legs  folded  back. 
Some,  the  stouter  species,  allow  themselves  to  rest  the 
tip  of  their  arched  abdomen  against  the  pole. 

This  visit  to  the  dormitory  of  certain  Wasps  and  Bees 
does  not  explain  the  problem  of  the  Empusa;  it  sets  up 
another  one,  no  less  difficult.  It  shows  us  how  deficient 
we  are  in  insight,  when  it  comes  to  differentiating  be- 
tween fatigue  and  rest  in  the  cogs  of  the  animal  ma- 
chine. The  Ammophila,  with  the  static  paradox  af- 
forded by  her  mandibles;  the  Empusa,  with  her  claws 
unwearied  by  ten  months'  hanging, -  leave  the  physiolo- 
gist perplexed  and  make  him  wonder  what  really  consti- 
tutes rest.  In  absolute  fact,  there  is  no  rest,  apart  from 
that  which  puts  an  end  to  life.  The  struggle  never 
ceases ;  some  muscle  is  always  toiling,  some  nerve  strain- 

1  Cotton-bees. —  Translator's  Note. 

2  A  genus  of  Mason-wasps. —  Translator's  Note. 

8  A  species  of  Burrowing-bees. —  Translator's  Note. 


40         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

ing.  Sleep,  which  resembles  a  return  to  the  peace  of 
non-existence,  is,  like  waking,  an  effort,  here  of  the 
leg,  of  the  curled  tail;  there  of  the  claw,  of  the  jaws. 

The  transformation  is  effected  about  the  middle  of 
May  and  the  adult  Empusa  makes  her  appearance.  She 
is  even  more  remarkable  in  figure  and  attire  than  the 
Praying  Mantis.  Of  her  youthful  eccentricities,  she  re- 
tains the  pointed  miter,  the  saw-like  arm-guards,  the  long 
bust,  the  knee-pieces,  the  three  rows  of  scales  on  the  lower 
surface  of  the  belly;  but  the  abdomen  is  now  no  longer 
twisted  into  a  crook  and  the  animal  is  comelier  to  look 
upon.  Large  pale-green  wings,  pink  at  the  shoulder  and 
swift  in  flight  in  both  sexes,  cover  the  belly,  which  is 
striped  white  and  green  underneath.  The  male,  the 
dandy  sex,  adorns  himself  with  plumed  antennae,  like 
those  of  certain  Moths,  the  Bombyx  tribe.  In  respect  of 
size,  he  is  almost  the  equal  of  his  mate. 

Save  for  a  few  slight  structural  details,  the  Empusa 
is  the  Praying  Mantis.  The  peasant  confuses  them. 
When,  in  spring,  he  meets  the  mitered  insect,  he  thinks 
he  sees  the  common  Prego-Dieu,  who  is  a  daughter  of  the 
autumn.  Similar  forms  would  seem  to  indicate  similar- 
ity of  habits.  In  fact,  led  away  by  the  extraordinary 
armor,  we  should  be  tempted  to  attribute  to  the  Empusa 
a  mode  of  life  even  more  atrocious  than  that  of  the 
Mantis.  I  myself  thought  so  at  first;  and  any  one,  rely- 
ing upon  false  analogies,  would  think  the  same.  It  is 
a  fresh  error :  for  all  her  warlike  aspect,  the  Empusa 
is  a  peaceful  creature  that  hardly  repays  the  trouble  of 
rearing1. 


THE  EMPUSA  41 

Installed  under  the  gauze  bell,  whether  in  assemblies 
of  half  a  dozen  or  in  separate  couples,  she  at  no  time 
loses  her  placidity.  Like  the  larva,  she  is  very  abstemi- 
ous and  contents  herself  with  a  Fly  or  two  as  her  daily 
ration. 

Big  eaters  are  naturally  quarrelsome.  The  Mantis, 
bloated  with  Locusts,  soon  becomes  irritated  and  shows 
fight.  The  Empusa,  with  her  frugal  meals,  does  not  in- 
dulge in  hostile  demonstrations.  There  is  no  strife 
among  neighbors  nor  any  of  those  sudden  unfurlings  of 
the  wings  so  dear  to  the  Mantis  when  she  assumes  the 
spectral  attitude  and  puffs  like  a  startled  Adder;  never 
the  least  inclination  for  those  cannibal  banquets  whereat 
the  sister  who  has  been  worsted  in  the  fight  is  devoured. 
Such  atrocities  are  here  unknown. 

Unknown  also  are  tragic  nuptials.  The  male  is  enter- 
prising and  assiduous  and  is  subjected  to  a  long  trial 
before  succeeding.  For  days  and  days  he  worries  his 
mate,  who  ends  by  yielding.  Due  decorum  is  preserved 
after  the  wedding.  The  feathered  groom  retires,  re- 
spected by  his  bride,  and  does  his  little  bit  of  hunting, 
without  danger  of  being  apprehended  and  gobbled  up. 

The  two  sexes  live  together  in  peace  and  mutual  in- 
difference until  the  middle  of  July.  Then  the  male, 
grown  old  and  decrepit,  takes  counsel  with  himself,  hunts 
no  more,  becomes  shaky  in  his  walk,  creeps  down  from 
the  lofty  heights  of  the  trellised  dome  and  at  last  col- 
lapses on  the  ground.  His  end  comes  by  a  natural  death. 
And  remember  that  the  other,  the  male  of  the  Praying 
Mantis,  ends  in  the  stomach  of  his  gluttonous  spouse. 


42         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

The  laying  follows  close  upon  the  disappearance  of  the 
males. 

One  word  more  on  comparative  manners.  The  Man- 
tis goes  in  for  battle  and  cannibalism;  the  Empusa  is 
peaceable  and  respects  her  kind.  To  what  cause  are 
these  profound  moral  differences  due,  when  the  organic 
structure  is  the  same?  Perhaps  to  the  difference  of  diet. 
Frugality,  in  fact,  softens  character,  in  animals  as  in 
men;  gross  feeding  brutalizes  it.  The  gormandizer 
gorged  with  meat  and  strong  drink,  a  fruitful  source  of 
savage  outbursts,  could  not  possess  the  gentleness  of  the 
ascetic  who  dips  his  bread  into  a  cup  of  milk.  The  Man- 
tis is  that  gormandizer,  the  Empusa  that  ascetic. 

Granted.  But  whence  does  the  one  derive  her  vora- 
cious appetite,  the  other  her  temperate  ways,  when  it 
would  seem  as  though  their  almost  identical  structure 
ought  to  produce  an  identity  of  needs?  These  insects 
tell  us,  in  their  fashion,  what  many  have  already  told  us : 
that  propensities  and  aptitudes  do  not  depend  exclusively 
upon  anatomy ;  high  above  the  physical  laws  that  govern 
matter  rise  other  laws  that  govern  instincts. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   CAPRICORN 

MY  youthful  meditations  owe  some  happy  moments  to 
Condillac's1  famous  statue  which,  when  endowed  with 
the  sense  of  smell,  inhales  the  scent  of  a  rose  and  out  of 
the  single  impression  creates  a  whole  world  of  ideas. 
My  twenty-year-old  mind,  full  of  faith  in  syllogisms, 
loved  to  follow  the  deductive  jugglery  of  the  abbe-phi- 
losopher: I  saw,  or  seemed  to  see,  the  statue  take  life  in 
that  action  of  the  nostrils,  acquiring  attention,  memory, 
judgment  and  all  the  psychological  paraphernalia,  even  as 
still  waters  are  aroused  and  rippled  by  the  impact  of  a 
grain  of  sand.  I  recovered  from  my  illusion  under  the 
instruction  of  my  abler  master,  the  animal.  The  Capri- 
corn shall  teach  us  that  the  problem  is  more  obscure  than 
the  abbe  led  me  to  believe. 

When  wedge  and  mallet  are  at  work,  preparing  my 
provision  of  firewood  under  the  gray  sky  that  heralds 

1  Etienne  Bonnot  de  Condillac,  Abbe  de  Mureaux  (1715-80),  the 
leading  exponent  of  sensational  philosophy.  His  most  important 
work  is  the  Traite  des  sensations,  in  which  he  imagines  a  statue, 
organized  like  a  man,  and  endows  it  with  the  senses  one  by  one, 
beginning  with  that  of  smell.  He  argues  by  a  process  of  imagi- 
native reconstruction  that  all  human  faculties  and  all  human 
knowledge  are  merely  transformed  sensation,  to  the  exclusion  of 
any  other  principle,  that,  in  short,  everything  has  its  source  in 
sensation :  man  is  nothing  but  what  he  has  acquired. —  Translator's 
Note, 

43 


44         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

winter,  a  favorite  relaxation  creates  a  welcome  break  in 
my  daily  output  of  prose.  By  my  express  orders,  the 
woodman  has  selected  the  oldest  and  most  ravaged  trunks 
in  his  stack.  My  tastes  bring  a  smile  to  his  lips ;  he  won- 
ders by  what  whimsy  I  prefer  wood  that  is  worm-eaten 
—  chirouna,  as  he  calls  it  —  to  sound  wood  which  burns 
so  much  better.  I  have  my  views  on  the  subject;  and  the 
worthy  man  submits  to  them. 

And  now  to  us  two,  O  my  fine  oak-trunk  seamed  with 
scars,  gashed  with  wounds  whence  trickle  the  brown 
drops  smelling  of  the  tan-yard.  The  mallet  drives  home, 
the  wedges  bite,  the  wood  splits.  What  do  your  flanks 
contain  ?  Real  treasures  for  my  studies.  In  the  dry  and 
hollow  parts,  groups  of  various  insects,  capable  of  living 
through  the  bad  season  of  the  year,  have  taken  up  their 
winter  quarters:  in  the  low-roofed  galleries,  galleries 
which  some  Buprestis-beetle  has  built,  Osmia-bees,  work- 
ing their  paste  of  masticated  leaves,  have  piled  their  cells, 
one  above  the  other ;  in  the  deserted  chambers  and  vesti- 
bules, Megachiles  1  have  arranged1  their  leafy  jars;  in  the 
live  wood,  filled  with  juicy  saps,  the  larvae  of  the  Capri- 
corn (Cerambyx  miles},  the  chief  author  of  the  oak's 
undoing,  have  set  up  their  home. 

Strange  creatures,  of  a  verity,  are  these  grubs,  for  an 
insect  of  superior  organization:  bits  of  intestines  crawl- 
ing about!  At  this  time  of  year,  the  middle  of  autumn, 
I  meet  them  of  two  different  ages.  The  older  are  almost 
as  thick  as  one's  finger ;  the  others  hardly  attain  the  diam- 
eter of  a  pencil.  I  find,  in  addition,  pupae  more  or  less 

1  Leaf-cutting  Bees. —  Translator's  Note. 


THE  CAPRICORN  45 

fully  colored,  perfect  insects,  with  a  distended  abdomen, 
ready  to  leave  the  trunk  when  the  hot  weather  comes 
again.  Life  inside  the  wood,  therefore,  lasts  three  years. 
How  is  this  long  period  of  solitude  and  captivity  spent? 
In  wandering  lazily  through  the  thickness  of  the  oak,  in 
making  roads  whose  rubbish  serves  as  food.  The  horse 
in  Job  swallows  the  ground  a  in  a  figure  of  speech ;  the 
Capricorn's  grub  literally  eats  its  way.  With  its  carpen- 
ter's gouge,  a  strong  black  mandible,  short,  devoid  of 
notches,  scooped  into  a  sharp-edged  spoon,  it  digs  the 
opening  of  its  tunnel.  The  piece  cut  out  is  a  mouthful 
which,  as  if  enters  the  stomach,  yields  its  scanty  juices 
and  accumulates  behind  the  worker  in  heaps  of  wormed 
wood.  The  refuse  leaves  room  in  front  by  passing 
through  the  worker.  A  labor  at  once  of  nutrition  and  of 
road-making,  the  path  is  devoured  while  constructed;  it 
is  blocked  behind  as  it  makes  way  ahead.  That,  how- 
ever, is  how  all  the  borers  who  look  to  wood  for  victuals 
and  lodging  set  about  their  business. 

For  the  harsh  work  of  its  two  gouges,  or  curved  chis- 
els, the  larva  of  the  Capricorn  concentrates  its  muscular 
strength  in  the  front  of  its  body,  which  swells  into  a 
pestle-head.  The  Buprestis-grubs,  those  other  industri- 
ous carpenters,  adopt  a  similar  form ;  they  even  exag- 
gerate their  pestle.  The  part  that  toils  and  carves  hard 
wood  requires  a  robust  structure;  the  rest  of  the  body, 
which  has  but  to  follow  after,  continues  slim.  The 
essential  thing  is  that  the  implement  of  the  jaws  should 

l"  Chafing  and  raging,  he  swalloweth  the  ground,  neither  doth 
he  make  account  when  the  noise  of  the  trumpet  soundeth." — 
JOB  xxxix,  23  (Douai  version). —  Translator's  Note. 


46         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

possess  a  solid  support  and  a  powerful  motor.  The 
Cerambyx-larva  strengthens  its  chisels  with  a  stout,  black, 
horny  armor  that  surrounds  the  mouth;  yet,  apart  from 
its  skull  and  its  equipment  of  tools,  the  grub  has  a  skin 
as  fine  as  satin  and  white  as  ivory.  This  dead  white 
comes  from  a  copious  layer  of  grease  which  the  animal's 
spare  diet  would  not  lead  us  to  suspect.  True,  it  has 
nothing  to  do,  at  every  hour  of  the  day  and  night,  but 
gnaw.  The  quantity  of  wood  that  passes  into  its  stomach 
makes  up  for  the  dearth  of  nourishing  elements. 

The  legs,  consisting  of  three  pieces,  the  first  globular, 
the  last  sharp-pointed,  are  mere  rudiments,  vestiges. 
They  are  hardly  a  millimeter  x  long.  For  this  reason 
they  are  of  no  use  whatever  for  walking ;  they  do  not  even 
bear  upon  the  supporting  surface,  being  kept  off  it  by  the 
obesity  of  the  chest.  The  organs  of  locomotion  are  some- 
thing altogether  different.  The  grub  of  the  Capricorn 
moves  at  the  same  time  on  its  back  and  belly;  instead  of 
the  useless  legs  of  the  thorax,  it  has  a  walking-apparatus 
almost  resembling  feet,  which  appear,  contrary  to  every 
rule,  on  the  dorsal  surface. 

The  first  seven  segments  of  the  abdomen  have,  both 
above  and  below,  a  four-sided  facet,  bristling  with  rough 
protuberances.  This  the  grub  can  either  expand  or  con- 
tract, making  it  stick  out  or  lie  flat  at  will.  The  upper 
facets  consist  of  two  excrescences  separated  by  the  mid- 
dorsal  line ;  the  lower  ones  have  not  this  divided  appear- 
ance. These  are  the  organs  of  locomotion,  the  am- 
bulacra. When  the  larva  wishes  to  move  forwards,  it 

1 .039  inch. —  Translator's  Note. 


THE  CAPRICORN  47 

expands  its  hinder  ambulacra,  those  on  the  back  as  well 
as  those  on  the  belly,  and  contracts  its  front  ones.  Fixed 
to  the  side  of  the  narrow  gallery  by  their  ridges,  the  hind- 
pads  give  the  grub  a  purchase.  The  flattening  of  the 
fore-pads,  by  decreasing  the  diameter,  allows  it  to  slip 
forward  and  to  take  half  a  step.  To  complete  the  step 
the  hind-quarters  have  to  be  brought  up  the  same  dis- 
tance. With  this  object,  the  front  pads  fill  out  and  pro- 
vide support,  while  those  behind  shrink  and  leave  free 
scope  for  their  segments  to  contract. 

With  the  double  support  of  its  back  and  belly,  with  al- 
ternate puffings  and  shrinkings,  the  animal  easily  ad- 
vances or  retreats  along  its  gallery,  a  sort  of  mold  which 
the  contents  fill  without  a  gap.  But  if  the  locomotory 
pads  grip  only  on  one  side  progress  becomes  impossible. 
When  placed  on  the  smooth  wood  of  my  table,  the  animal 
wriggles  slowly ;  it  lengthens  and  shortens  without  ad- 
vancing by  a  hair's-breadth.  Laid  on  the  surface  of  a 
piece  of  split  oak,  a  rough,  uneven  surface,  due  to  the 
gash  made  by  the  wedge,  it  twists  and  writhes,  moves  the 
front  part  of  its  body  very  slowly  from  left  to  right  and 
right  to  left,  lifts  it  a  little,  lowers  it  and  begins  again. 
These  are  the  most  extensive  movements  made.  The 
vestigial  legs  remain  inert  and  absolutely  useless.  Then 
why  are  they  there?  It  were  better  to  lose  them  alto- 
gether, if  it  be  true  that  crawling  inside  the  oak  has  de- 
prived the  animal  of  the  good  legs  with  which  it  started. 
The  influence  of  environment,  so  well-inspired  in  endow- 
ing the  grub  with  ambulatory  pads,  becomes  a  mockery 
when  it  leaves  it  these  ridiculous  stumps.  Can  the  struc- 


48         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

ture,  perchance,  be  obeying  other  rules  than  those  of  en- 
vironment ? 

Though  the  useless  legs,  the  germs  of  the  future  limbs, 
persist,  there  is  no  sign  in  the  grub  of  the  eyes  where- 
with the  Cerambyx  will  be  richly  gifted.  The  larva  has 
not  the  least  trace  of  organs  of  vision.  What  would  it 
do  with  sight  in  the  murky  thickness  of  a  tree-trunk? 
Hearing  is  likewise  absent.  In  the  never-troubled 
silence  of  the  oak's  inmost  heart,  the  sense  of  hearing 
would  be  a  non-sense.  Where  sounds  are  lacking,  of 
what  use  is  the  faculty  of  discerning  them?  Should 
there  be  any  doubts,  I  will  reply  to  them  with  the  follow- 
ing experiment.  Split  lengthwise,  the  grub's  abode 
leaves  a  half -tunnel  wherein  I  can  watch  the  occupant's 
doings.  When  left  alone,  it  now  gnaws  the  front  of  its 
gallery,  now  rests,  fixed  by  its  ambulacra  to  the  two  sides 
of  the  channel.  I  avail  myself  of  these  moments  of  quiet 
to  inquire  into  its  power  of  perceiving  sounds.  The 
banging  of  hard  bodies,  the  ring  of  metallic  objects,  the 
grating  of  a  file  upon  a  saw  are  tried  in  vain.  The  ani- 
mal remains  impassive.  Not  a  wince,  not  a  movement  of 
the  skin;  no  sign  of  awakened  attention.  I  succeed  no 
better  when  I  scratch  the  wood  close  by  with  a  hard  point, 
to  imitate  the  sound  of  some  neighboring  larva  gnawing 
the  intervening  thickness.  The  indifference  to  my  noisy 
tricks  could  be  no  greater  in  a  lifeless  object.  The  ani- 
mal is  deaf. 

Can  it  smell?  Everything  tells  us  no.  Scent  is  of 
assistance  in  the  search  for  food.  But  the  Capricorn  grub 
need  not  go  in  quest  of  eatables:  it  feeds  on  its  home, 


THE   LARVA    OF   THE    GREAT    CAPRICORN 

The  grub 
The  grub  digging  its  galleries  in  the  trunk  of  the  oak 


THE  CAPRICORN  49 

it  lives  on  the  wood  that  gives  it  shelter.  Let  us  make 
an  attempt  or  two,  however.  I  scoop  in  a  log  of  fresh 
cypress-wood  a  groove  of  the  same  diameter  as  that  of 
the  natural  galleries  and  I  place  the  worm  inside  it. 
Cypress-wood  is  strongly  scented ;  it  possesses  in  a  high 
degree  that  resinous  aroma  which  characterizes  most  of 
the  pine  family.  Well,  when  laid  in  the  odoriferous 
channel,  the  larva  goes  to  the  end,  as  far  as  it  can  go, 
and  makes  no  further  movement.  Does  not  this  placid 
quiescence  point  to  the  absence  of  a  sense  of  smell? 
The  resinous  flavor,  so  strange  to  the  grub  which  has 
always  lived,  in  oak,  ought  to  vex  it,  to  trouble  it ;  and 
the  disagreeable  impression  ought  to  be  revealed  by  a 
certain  commotion,  by  certain  attempts  to  get  away. 
Well,  nothing  of  the  kind  happens:  once  the  larva  has 
found  the  right  position  in  the  groove,  it  does  not  stir. 
I  do  more:  I  set  before  it,  at  a  very  short  distance  in  its 
normal  canal  a  piece  of  camphor.  Again,  no  effect. 
Camphor  is  followed  by  naphthaline.  Still  nothing. 
After  these  fruitless  endeavors,  I  do  not  think  that  I  am 
going  too  far  when  I  deny  the  creature  a  sense  of  smell. 

Taste  is  there,  no  doubt.  But  such  taste!  The  food 
is  without  variety :  oak,  for  three  years  at  a  stretch,  and 
nothing  else.  What  can  the  grub's  palate  appreciate  in 
this  monotonous  fare?  The  tannic  relish  of  a  fresh 
piece,  oozing  with  sap;  the  uninteresting  flavor  of  an 
over-dry  piece,  robbed  of  its  natural  condiment:  these 
probably  represent  the  whole  gustative  scale. 

There  remains  touch,  the  far-spreading,  passive  sense 
common  to  all  live  flesh  that  quivers  under  the  goad  of 


50         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

pain.  The  sensitive  schedule  of  the  Cerambyx-grub, 
therefore,  is  limited  to  taste  and  touch,  both  exceedingly 
obtuse.  This  almost  brings  us  to  Condillac's  statue. 
The  imaginary  being  of  the  philosopher  had  one  sense 
only,  that  of  smell,  equal  in  delicacy  to  our  own;  the  real 
being,  the  ravager  of  the  oak,  has  two,  inferior,  even 
when  put  together,  to  the  former,  which  so  plainly  per- 
ceived the  scent  of  a  rose  and  distinguished  it  so  clearly 
from  any  other.  The  real  case  will  bear  comparison 
with  the  fictitious. 

What  can  be  the  psychology  of  a  creature  possessing 
such  a  powerful  digestive  organism  combined  with  such 
a  feeble  set  of  senses?  A  vain  wish  has  often  come  to 
me  in  my  dreams;  it  is  to  be  able  to  think,  for  a  few 
minutes,  with  the  crude  brain  of  my  Dog,  to  see  the  world 
with  the  faceted  eyes  of  a  Gnat.  How  things  would 
change  in  appearance !  They  would  change  much  more 
if  interpreted  by  the  intellect  of  the  grub.  What  have 
the  lessons  of  touch  and  taste  contributed  to  that  rudi- 
mentary receptacle  of  impressions?  Very  little;  almost 
nothing.  The  animal  knows  that  the  best  bits  possess 
an  astringent  flavor ;  that  the  sides  of  a  passage  not  care- 
fully planed  are  painful  to  the  skin.  This  is  the  ut- 
most limit  of  its  acquired  wisdom.  In  comparison,  the 
statue  with  the  sensitive  nostrils  was  a  marvel  of  knowl- 
edge, a  paragon  too  generously  endowed  by  its  inventor. 
It  remembered,  compared,  judged,  reasoned:  does  the 
drowsily  digesting  paunch  remember  ?  Does  it  compare  ? 
Does  it  reason?  I  defined  the  Capricorn-grub  as  a  bit 
of  an  intestine  that  crawls  about.  The  undeniable  accur- 


THE  CAPRICORN  51 

acy  of  this  definition  provides  me  with  my  answer:  the 
grub  has  the  aggregate  of  sense-impressions  that  a  bit  of 
an  intestine  may  hope  to  have. 

And  this  nothing-at-all  is  capable  of  marvelous  acts 
of  foresight;  this  belly,  which  knows  hardly  aught  of 
the  present,  sees  very  clearly  into  the  future.  Let  us 
take  an  illustration  on  this  curious  subject.  For  three 
years  on  end  the  larva  wanders  about  in  the  thick  of 
the  trunk ;  it  goes  up,  goes  down,  turns  to  this  side  and 
that ;  it  leaves  one  vein  for  another  of  better  flavor,  but 
without  moving  too  far  from  the  inner  depths,  where 
the  temperature  is  milder  and  greater  safety  reigns.  A 
day  is  at  hand,  a  dangerous  day  for  the  recluse  obliged 
to  quit  its  excellent  retreat  and  face  the  perils  of  the  sur- 
face. Eating  is  not  everything:  we  have  to  get  out  of 
this.  The  larva,  so  well-equipped  with  tools  and  mus- 
cular strength,  finds  no  difficulty  in  going  where  it  pleases, 
by  boring  through  the  wood ;  but  does  the  coming  Capri- 
corn, whose  short  spell  of  life  must  be  spent  in  the  open 
air,  possess  the  same  advantages?  Hatched  inside  the 
trunk,  will  the  long-horned  insect  be  able  to  clear  itself 
a  way  of  escape? 

That  is  the  difficulty  which  the  worm  solves  by  in- 
spiration. Less  versed  in  things  of  the  future,  despite 
my  gleams  of  reason,  I  resort  to  experiment  with  a  view 
to  fathoming  the  question.  I  begin  by  ascertaining  that 
the  Capricorn,  when  he  wishes  to  leave  the  trunk,  is 
absolutely  unable  to  make  use  of  the  tunnel  wrought  by 
the  larva.  It  is  a  very  long  and  very  irregular  maze, 
blocked  with  great  heaps  of  wormed  wood.  Its  diameter 


52         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

decreases  progressively  from  the  final  blind  alley  to  the 
starting-point.  The  larva  entered  the  timber  as  slim  as 
a  tiny  bit  of  straw;  it  is  to-day  as  thick  as  my  finger. 
In  its  three  years'  wanderings  it  always  dug  its  gallery 
according  to  the  mold  of  its  body.  Evidently,  the  road 
by  which  the  larva  entered  and  moved  about  cannot  be 
the  Capricorn's  exit-way:  his  immoderate  antennae,  his 
long  legs,  his  inflexible  armor-plates  would  encounter  an 
insuperable  obstacle  in  the  narrow,  winding  corridor, 
which  would  have  to  be  cleared  of  its  wormed  wood  and, 
moreover,  greatly  enlarged.  It  would  be  less  fatiguing 
to  attack  the  untouched  timber  and  dig  straight  ahead. 
Is  the  insect  capable  of  doing  so?  We  shall  see. 

I  make  some  chambers  of  suitable  size  in  oak  logs 
chopped  in  two ;  and  each  of  my  artificial  cells  receives  a 
newly  transformed  Cerambyx,  such  as  my  provisions  of 
firewood  supply,  when  split  by  the  wedge,  in  October. 
The  two  pieces  are  then  joined 'and  kept  together  with 
a  few  bands  of  wire.  June  comes.  I  hear  a  scraping 
inside  my  billets.  Will  the  Capricorns  come  out,  or  not? 
The  delivery  does  not  seem  difficult  to  me :  there  is  hardly 
three-quarters  of  an  inch  to  pierce.  Not  one  emerges. 
When  all  is  silence,  I  open  my  apparatus.  The  captives, 
from  first  to  last,  are  dead.  A  vestige  of  sawdust,  less 
than  a  pinch  of  snuff,  represents  all  their  work. 

I  expected  more  from  those  sturdy  tools,  their  man- 
dibles. But,  as  I  have  said  elsewhere,  the  tool  does  not 
make  the  workman.  In  spite  of  their  boring-implements, 
the  hermits  die  in  my  cases  for  lack  of  skill.  I  subject 


THE  CAPRICORN  53 

others  to  less  arduous  tests.  I  enclose  them  in  spacious 
reed-stumps,  equal  in  diameter  to  the  natal  cell.  The 
obstacle  to  be  pierced  is  the  natural  diaphragm,  a  yield- 
ing partition  two  or  three  millimeters  l  thick.  Some  free 
themselves;  others  cannot.  The  less  valiant  ones  suc- 
cumb, stopped  by  the  frail  barrier.  What  would  it  be 
if  they  had  to  pass  through  a  thickness  of  oak? 

We  are  now  persuaded:  despite  his  stalwart  appear- 
ance, the  Capricorn  is  powerless  to  leave  the  tree-trunk 
by  his  unaided  efforts.  It  therefore  falls  to  the  worm, 
to  the  wisdom  of  that  bit  of  an  intestine,  to  prepare  the 
way  for  him.  We  see  renewed,  in  another  form,  the 
feats  of  prowess  of  the  Anthrax,  whose  pupa,  armed  with 
trepans,  bores  through  rock  on  the  feeble  Fly's  behalf. 
Urged  by  a  presentiment  that  to  us  remains  an  unfathom- 
able mystery,  the  Cerambyx-grub  leaves  the  inside  of  the 
oak,  its  peaceful  retreat,  its  unassailable  stronghold,  to 
wriggle  towards  the  outside,  where  lives  the  foe,  the 
Woodpecker,  who  may  gobble  up  the  succulent  little 
sausage.  At  the  risk  of  its  life,  it  stubbornly  digs  and 
gnaws  to  the  very  bark,  of  which  it  leaves  no  more  intact 
than  the  thinnest  film,  a  slender  screen.  Sometimes, 
even,  the  rash  one  opens  the  window  wide. 

This  is  the  Capricorn's  exit-hole.  The  insect  will 
have  but  to  file  the  screen  a  little  with  its  mandibles, 
to  bump  against  it  with  its  forehead,  in  order  to  bring 
it  down ;  it  will  even  have  nothing  to  do  when  the  window 
is  free,  as  often  happens.  The  unskilled  carpenter,  bur- 

1.o;8  to  .117  inch. —  Translator's  Note. 


54         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

dened  with  his  extravagant  head-dress,  will  emerge  from 
the  darkness  through  this  opening  when  the  summer 
heats  arrive. 

After  the  cares  of  the  future  come  the  cares  of  the 
present.  The  larva,  which  has  just  opened  the  aperture 
of  escape,  retreats  some  distance  down  its  gallery  and, 
in  the  side  of  the  exit-way,  digs  itself  a  transformation- 
chamber  more  sumptuously  furnished  and  barricaded 
than  any  that  I  have  ever  seen.  It  is  a  roomy  niche, 
shaped  like  a  flattened  ellipsoid,  the  length  of  which 
reaches  eighty  to  a  hundred  millimeters.1  The  two  axes 
of  the  cross-section  vary :  the  horizontal  measures  twenty- 
five  to  thirty  millimeters ; 2  the  vertical  measures  only 
fifteen.3  This  greater  dimension  of  the  cell,  where  the 
thickness  of  the  perfect  insect  is  concerned,  leaves  a  cer- 
tain scope  for  the  action  of  its  legs  when  the  time  comes 
for  forcing  the  barricade,  which  is  more  than  a  close- 
fitting  mummy-case  would  do. 

The  barricade  in  question,  a  door  which  the  larva 
builds  to  exclude  the  dangers  from  without,  is  two-  and 
even  three-fold.  Outside,  it  is  a  stack  of  woody  refuse, 
of  particles  of  chopped  timber;  inside,  a  mineral  hatch, 
a  concave  cover,  all  in  one  piece,  of  a  chalky  white. 
Pretty  often,  but  not  always,  there  is  added  to  these  two 
layers  an  inner  casing  of  shavings.  Behind  this  com- 
pound door,  the  larva  makes  its  arrangements  for  the 
metamorphosis.  The  sides  of  the  chamber  are  rasped, 
thus  providing  a  sort  of  down  formed  of  raveled  woody 

1 3  to  4  inches. —  Translator's  Note. 
2  -975  to  1.17  inch. —  Translator's  Note. 
• .585  inch.—  Translator's  Note. 


THE  CAPRICORN  55 

fibers,  broken  into  minute  shreds.  The  velvety  matter, 
as  and  when  obtained,  is  applied  to  the  wall  in  a  continu- 
ous felt  at  least  a  millimeter  thick.1  The  chamber  is 
thus  padded  throughout  with  a  fine  swan's-down,  a  deli- 
cate precaution  taken  by  the  rough  worm  on  behalf  of  the 
tender  pupa. 

Let  us  hark  back  to  the  most  curious  part  of  the 
furnishing,  the  mineral  hatch  or  inner  door  of  the  en- 
trance. It  is  an  elliptical  skull-cap,  white  and  hard  as 
chalk,  smooth  within  and  knotted  without,  resembling 
more  or  less  closely  an  acorn-cup.  The  knots  show  that 
the  matter  is  supplied  in  small,  pasty  mouthfuls,  solidify- 
ing outside  in  slight  projections  which  the  insect  does 
not  remove,  being  unable  to  get  at  them,  and  polished  on 
the  inside  surface,  which  is  within  the  worm's  reach. 
What  can  be  the  nature  of  that  singular  lid  whereof  the 
Cerambyx  furnishes  me  with  the  first  specimen?  It  is 
as  hard  and  brittle  as  a  flake  of  lime-stone.  It  can  be 
dissolved  cold  in  nitric  acid,  discharging  little  gaseous 
bubbles.  The  process  of  solution  is  a  slow  one,  requir- 
ing several  hours  for  a  tiny  fragment.  Everything  is 
dissolved,  except  a  few  yellowish  flocks,  which  appear  to 
be  of  an  organic  nature.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  a  piece  of 
the  hatch,  when  subjected  to  heat,  blackens,  proving  the 
presence  of  an  organic  glue  cementing  the  mineral  mat- 
ter. The  solution  becomes  muddy  if  oxalate  of  ammonia 
be  added;  it  then  deposits  a  copious  white  precipitate. 
These  signs  indicate  calcium  carbonate.  I  look  for  urate 
of  ammonia,  that  constantly  recurring  product  of  the 

1.O39  inch. —  Translator's  Note. 


56         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

various  stages  of  the  metamorphoses.  It  is  not  there: 
I  find  not  the  least  trace  of  murexide.  The  lid,  therefore, 
is  composed  solely  of  carbonate  of  lime  and  of  an  organic 
cement,  no  doubt  of  an  albuminous  character,  which  gives 
consistency  to  the  chalky  paste. 

Had  circumstances  served  me  better,  I  should  have 
tried  to  discover  in  which  of  the  worm's  organs  the  stony 
deposit  dwells.  I  am  however,  convinced :  it  is  the 
stomach,  the  chylific  ventricle,  that  supplies  the  chalk. 
It  keeps  it  separated  from  the  food,  either  as  original 
matter  or  as  a  derivative  of  the  ammonium  urate;  it 
purges  it  of  all  foreign  bodies,  when  the  larval  period 
comes  to  an  end,  and  holds  it  in  reserve  until  the  time 
comes  to  disgorge  it.  This  freestone  factory  causes  me 
no  astonishment:  when  the  manufacturer  undergoes  his 
change,  it  serves  for  various  chemical  works.  Certain 
Oil-beetles,  such  as  the  Sitaris,  locate  in  it  the  urate  of 
ammonia,  the  refuse  of  the  transformed  organism;  the 
Sphex,  the  Pelopaei,  the  Scoliae  use  it  to  manufacture  the 
shellac  wherewith  the  silk  of  the  cocoon  is  varnished. 
Further  investigations  will  only  swell  the  aggregate  of 
the  products  of  this  obliging  organ. 

When  the  exit-way  is  prepared  and  the  cell  uphol- 
stered in  velvet  and  closed  with  a  three-fold  barricade, 
the  industrious  worm  has  concluded  its  task.  It  lays 
aside  its  tools,  sheds  its  skin  and  becomes  a  nymph,  a 
pupa,  weakness  personified,  in  swaddling-clothes,  on  a 
soft  couch.  The  head  is  always  turned  towards  the  door. 
This  is  a  trifling  detail  in  appearance;  but  it  is  every- 
thing in  reality.  To  lie  this  way  or  that  in  the  long  cell 


THE  CAPRICORN  57 

is  a  matter  of  great  indifference  to  the  grub,  which  is  very 
supple,  turning  easily  in  its  narrow  lodging  and  adopt- 
ing whatever  position  it  pleases.  The  coming  Capricorn 
will  not  enjoy  the  same  privileges.  Stiffly  girt  in  his 
horn  cuirass,  he  will  not  be  able  to  turn  from  end  to  end ; 
he  will  not  even  be  capable  of  bending,  if  some  sudden 
wind  should  make  the  passage  difficult.  He  must  abso- 
lutely find  the  door  in  front  of  him,  lest  he  perish  in  the 
casket.  Should  the  grub  forget  this  little  formality, 
should  it  lie  down  to  its  nymphal  sleep  with  its  head  at 
the  back  of  the  cell,  the  Capricorn  is  infallibly  lost :  his 
cradle  becomes  a  hopeless  dungeon. 

But  there  is  no  fear  of  this  danger :  the  knowledge  of 
our  bit  of  an  intestine  is  too  sound  in  things  of  the  future 
for  the  grub  to  neglect  the  formality  of  keeping  its 
head  to  the  door.  At  the  end  of  spring,  the  Capricorn, 
now  in  possession  of  his  full  strength,  dreams  of  the 
joys  of  the  sun,  of  the  festivals  of  light.  He  wants  to 
get  out.  What  does  he  find  before  him?  A  heap  of 
filings  easily  dispersed  with  his  claws;  next,  a  stone  lid 
which  he  need  not  even  break  into  fragments :  it  comes 
undone  in  one  piece;  it  is  removed  from  its  frame  with 
a  few  pushes  of  the  forehead,  a  few  tugs  of  the  claws. 
In  fact,  I  find  the  lid  intact  on  the  threshold  of  the  aban- 
doned cells.  Last  comes  a  second  mass  of  woody  rem- 
nants, as  easy  to  disperse  as  the  first.  The  road  is  now 
free :  the  Cerambyx  has  but  to  follow  the  spacious  vesti- 
bule, which  will  lead  him,  without  the  possibility  of  mis- 
take, to  the  exit.  Should  the  window  not  be  open,  all 
that  he  has  to  do  is  to  gnaw  through  a  thin  screen :  an  easy 


58         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

task;  and  behold  him  outside,  his  long  antennae  aquiver 
with  excitement. 

What  have  we  learnt  from  him  ?  Nothing,  from  him ; 
much  from  his  grub.  This  grub,  so  poor  in  sensory 
organs,  gives  us  no  little  food  for  reflection  with  its 
prescience.  It  knows  that  the  coming  Beetle  will  not  be 
able  to  cut  himself  a  road  through  the  oak  and  it  bethinks 
itself  of  opening  one  for  him  at  its  own  risk  and  peril. 
It  knows  that  the  Cerambyx,  in  his  stiff  armor,  will  never 
be  able  to  turn  and  make  for  the  orifice  of  the  cell ;  and 
it  takes  care  to  fall  into  its  nymphal  sleep  with  its  head 
to  the  door.  It  knows  how  soft  the  pupa's  flesh  will  be 
and  upholsters  the  bedroom  with  velvet.  It  knows  that 
the  enemy  is  likely  to  break  in  during  the  slow  work  of 
the  transformation  and,  to  set  a  bulwark  against  his  at- 
tacks, it  stores  a  calcium  pap  inside  its  stomach.  It 
knows  the  future  with  a  clear  vision,  or,  to  be  accurate, 
behaves  as  though  it  knew  it.  Whence  did  it  derive  the 
motives  of  its  actions?  Certainly  not  from  the  experi- 
ence of  the  senses.  What  does  it  know  of  the  outside 
world?  Let  us  repeat,  as  much  as  a  bit  of  an  intestine 
can  know.  And  this  senseless  creature  fills  us  with 
amazement !  I  regret  that  the  clever  logician,  instead  of 
conceiving  a  statue  smelling  a  rose,  did  not  imagine  it 
gifted  with  some  instinct.  How  quickly  he  would  have 
recognized  that,  quite  apart  from  sense-impressions,  the 
animal,  including  man,  possesses  certain  psychological  re- 
sources, certain  inspirations  that  are  innate  and  not  ac- 
quired ! 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   BURYING-BEETLES :      THE   BURIAL 

BESIDE  the  iootpath  in  April  lies  the  Mole,  disemboweled 
by  the  peasant's  spade ;  at  the  foot  of  the  hedge  the  piti- 
less urchin  has  stoned  to  death  the  Lizard,  who  was  about 
to  don  his  green,  pearl-embellished  costume.  The 
passer-by  has  thought  it  a  meritorious  deed  to  crush  be- 
neath his  heel  the  chance-met  Adder;  and  a  gust  of  wind 
has  thrown  a  tiny  unfeathered  bird  from  its  nest.  What 
will  become  of  these  little  bodies  and  of  so  many  other 
pitiful  remnants  of  life?  They  will  not  long  offend  our 
sense  of  sight  and  smell.  The  sanitary  officers  of  the 
fields  are  legion. 

An  eager  freebooter,  ready  for  any  task,  the  Ant  is  the 
first  to  come  hastening  and  begin,  particle  by  particle,  to 
dissect  the  corpse.  Soon  the  odor  of  the  corpse  attracts 
the  Fly,  the  genitrix  of  the  odious  maggot.  At  the 
same  time,  the  flattened  Silpha,  the  glistening,  slow- 
trotting  Horn-beetle,  the  Dermestes,  powdered  with  snow 
upon  the  abdomen,  and  the  slender  Staphylinus,  all, 
whence  coming  no  one  knows,  hurry  hither  in  squads, 
with  never-wearied  zeal,  investigating,  probing  and  drain- 
ing the  infection. 

What  a  spectacle,  in  the  spring,  beneath  a  dead  Mole ! 
The  horror  of  this  laboratory  is  a  beautiful  sight  for  one 
59 


60         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

who  is  able  to  observe  and  to  meditate.  Let  us  overcome 
our  disgust;  let  us  turn  over  the  unclean  refuse  with  our 
foot.  What  a  swarming  there  is  beneath  it,  what  a 
tumult  of  busy  workers!  The  Silphse,  with  wing-cases 
wide  and  dark,  as  though  in  mourning,  fly  distraught, 
hiding  in  the  cracks  in  the  soil ;  the  Saprini,  of  polished 
ebony  which  mirrors  the  sunlight,  jog  hastily  off,  desert- 
ing their  workshop ;  the  Dermestes,  of  whom  one  wears 
a  fawn-colored  tippet,  spotted  with  white,  seek  to  fly 
away,  but,  tipsy  with  their  putrid  nectar,  tumble  over  and 
reveal  the  immaculate  whiteness  of  their  bellies,  which 
forms  a  violent  contrast  with  the  gloom  of  the  rest  of 
their  attire. 

What  were  they  doing  there,  all  these  feverish  work- 
ers? They  were  making  a  clearance  of  death  on  behalf 
of  life.  Transcendent  alchemists,  they  were  transform- 
ing that  horrible  putridity  into  a  living  and  inoffensive 
product.  They  were  draining  the  dangerous  corpse  to 
the  point  of  rendering  it  as  dry  and  sonorous  as  the  re- 
mains of  an  old  slipper  hardened  on  the  refuse-heap  by 
the  frosts  of  winter  and  the  heats  of  summer.  They  were 
working  their  hardest  to  render  the  carrion  innocuous. 

Others  will  soon  put  in  their  appearance,  smaller  crea- 
tures and  more  patient,  who  will  take  over  the  relic  and 
exploit  it  ligament  by  ligament,  bone  by  bone,  hair  by 
hair,  until  the  whole  has  been  resumed  by  the  treasury 
of  life.  All  honor  to  these  purifiers!  Let  us  put  back 
the  Mole  and  go  our  way. 

Some  other  victim  of  the  agricultural  labors  of  spring 
—  a  Shrew-mouse,  Field-mouse,  Mole,  Frog,  Adder,  or 


BURYING-BEETLES:     THE  BURIAL      61 

Lizard  —  will  provide  us  with  the  most  vigorous  and 
famous  of  these  expurgators  of  the  soil.  This  is  the 
Bury  ing-beetle,  the  Necrophorus,  so  different  from  the 
cadaveric  mob  in  dress  and  habits.  In  honor  of  his  ex- 
alted functions  he  exhales  an  odor  of  musk;  he  bears  a 
red  tuft  at  the  tip  of  his  antennae;  his  breast  is  covered 
with  nankeen;  and  across  his  wing-cases  he  wears  a 
double,  scalloped  scarf  of  vermilion.  An  elegant,  almost 
sumptuous  costume,  very  superior  to  that  of  the  others, 
but  yet  lugubrious,  as  befits  your  undertaker's  man. 

He  is  no  anatomical  dissector,  cutting  his  subject  open, 
carving  its  flesh  with  the  scalpel  of  his  mandibles;  he  is 
literally  a  gravedigger,  a  sexton.  While  the  others  — 
Silphse,  Dermestes,  Horn-beetles — gorge  themselves 
with  the  exploited  flesh,  without,  of  course,  forgetting  the 
interests  of  the  family,  he,  a  frugal  eater,  hardly  touches 
his  booty  on  his  own  account.  He  buries  it  entire,  on  the 
spot,  in  a  cellar  where  the  thing,  duly  ripened,  will  form 
the  diet  of  his  larvae.  He  buries  it  in  order  to  establish 
his  progeny  therein. 

This  hoarder  of  dead  bodies,  with  his  stiff  and  almost 
heavy  movements,  is  astonishingly  quick  at  storing  away 
wreckage.  In  a  shift  of  a  few  hours,  a  comparatively 
enormous  animal  —  a  Mole,  for  example  —  disappears, 
engulfed  by  the  earth.  The  others  leave  the  dried,  emp- 
tied carcass  to  the  air,  the  sport  of  the  winds  for  months 
on  end;  he,  treating  it  as  a  whole,  makes  a  clean  job  of 
things  at  once.  No  visible  trace  of  his  work  remains  but 
a  tiny  hillock,  a  burial-mound,  a  tumulus. 

With  his  expeditious  method,  the  Necrophorus  is  the 


62         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

first  of  the  little  purifiers  of  the  fields.  He  is  also  one 
of  the  most  celebrated  of  insects  in  respect  of  his  psychical 
capacities.  This  undertaker  is  endowed,  they  say,  with 
intellectual  faculties  approaching  to  reason,  such  as  are 
not  possessed  by  the  most  gifted  of  the  Bees  and  Wasps, 
the  collectors  of  honey  or  game.  He  is  honored  by  the 
two  following  anecdotes,  which  I  quote  from  Lacordaire's 
Introduction  to  Entomology,  the  only  general  treatise  at 
my  disposal : 

"  Clairville,"  says  the  author,  "  records  that  he  saw  a 
Necrophorifs  vespillo,  who,  wishing  to  bury  a  dead 
Mouse  and  finding  the  soil  on  which  the  body  lay  too 
hard,  proceeded  to  dig  a  hole  at  some  distance  in  soil 
more  easily  displaced.  This  operation  completed,  he  at- 
tempted to  bury  the  Mouse  in  this  cavity,  but,  not  succeed- 
ing, he  flew  away,  returning  a  few  moments  later  accom- 
panied by  four  of  his  fellows,  who  assisted  him  to  move 
the  Mouse  and  bury  it." 

In  such  actions,  Lacordaire  adds,  we  cannot  refuse  to 
admit  the  intervention  of  reason. 

"  The  following  case,"  he  continues,  "  recorded  by 
Gledditsch,  has  also  every  indication  of  the  intervention 
of  reason.  One  of  his  friends,  wishing  to  desiccate  a 
Frog,  placed  it  on  the  top  of  a  stick  thrust  into  the 
ground,  in  order  to  make  sure  that  the  Necrophori  should 
not  come  and  carry  it  off.  But  this  precaution  was  of  no 
effect;  the  insects,  being  unable  to  reach  the  Frog,  dug 
under  the  stick  and,  having  caused  it  to  fall,  buried  it  as 
well  as  the  body."  1 

1  Suites  ft  Buff  on.  Introduction  a  I'entomologie,  vol.  ii,  pp.  460-61. 
—  Author's  Note. 


BURYING-BEETLES:     THE  BURIAL      63 

To  grant,  in  the  intellect  of  the  insect,  a  lucid  under- 
standing of  the  relations  between  cause  and  effect,  be- 
tween the  end  and  the  means,  is  an  affirmation  of  serious 
import.  I  know  of  scarcely  any  better  adapted  to  the 
philosophical  brutalities  of  my  time.  But  are  these  two 
little  stories  really  true?  Do  they  involve  the  conse- 
quences deduced  from  them?  Are  not  those  who  accept 
them  as  reliable  testimony  a  little  over-simple  ? 

To  be  sure,  simplicity  is  needed  in  entomology.  With- 
out a  good  dose  of  this  quality,  a  mental  defect  in  the 
eyes  of  practical  folk,  who  would  busy  himself  with  the 
lesser  creatures?  Yes,  let  us  be  simple,  without  being 
childishly  credulous.  Before  making  insects  reason,  let 
us  reason  a  little  ourselves ;  let  us,  above  all,  consult  the 
experimental  test.  A  fact  gathered  at  hazard,  without 
criticism,  cannot  establish  a  law. 

I  do  not  propose,  O  valiant  grave-diggers,  to  belittle 
your  merits;  such  is  far  from  being  my  intention.  I 
have  that  in  my  notes,  on  the  other  hand,  which  will  do 
you  more  honor  than  the  case  of  the  gibbet  and  the  Frog ; 
I  have  gleaned,  for  your  benefit,  examples  of  prowess 
which  will  shed  a  new  luster  upon  your  reputation. 

No,  my  intention  is  not  to  lessen  your  renown.  How- 
ever, it  is  not  the  business  of  impartial  history  to  main- 
tain a  given  thesis ;  it  follows  whither  the  facts  lead  it. 
I  wish  simply  to  question  you  upon  the  power  of  logic 
attributed  to  you.  Do  you  or  do  you  not  enjoy  gleams 
of  reason?  Have  you  within  you  the  humble  germ  of 
human  thought?  That  is  the  problem  before  us. 

To  solve  it  we  will  not  rely  upon  the  accidents  which 


64         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

good  fortune  may  now  and  again  procure  for  us.  We 
must  employ  the  breeding-cage,  which  will  permit  of  as- 
siduous visits,  continued  inquiry  and  a  variety  of  artifices. 
But  how  populate  the  cage?  The  land  of  the  olive-tree 
is  not  rich  in  Necrophori.  To  my  knowledge  it  possesses 
only  a  single  species,  N.  vestigator  ( Hersch. )  ;  and  even 
this  rival  of  the  grave-diggers  of  the  north  is  pretty 
scarce.  The  discovery  of  three  or  four  in  the  course 
of  the  spring  was  as  much  as  my  searches  yielded  in  the 
old  days.  This  time,  if  I  do  not  resort  to  the  ruses  of  the 
trapper,  I  shall  obtain  them  in  no  greater  numbers; 
whereas  I  stand  in  need  of  at  least  a  dozen. 

These  ruses  are  very  simple.  To  go  in  search  of  the 
layer-out  of  bodies,  who  exists  only  here  and  there  in 
the  country-side,  would  be  almost  always  waste  of  time ; 
the  favorable  month,  April,  would  elapse  before  my  cage 
was  suitably  populated.  To  run  after  him  is  to  trust  too 
much  to  accident ;  so  we  will  make  him  come  to  us  by 
scattering  in  the  orchard  an  abundant  collection  of  dead 
Moles.  To  this  carrion,  ripened  by  the  sun,  the  insect 
will  not  fail  to  hasten  from  the  various  points  of  the 
horizon,  so  accomplished  is  he  in  the  detection  of  such  a 
delicacy. 

I  make  an  arrangement  with  a  gardener  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, who,  two  or  three  times  a  week,  supplements 
the  penury  of  my  acre  and  a  half  of  stony  ground,  pro- 
viding me  with  vegetables  raised  in  a  better  soil.  I  ex- 
plain to  him  my  urgent  need  of  Moles,  an  indefinite  num- 
.ber  of  moles.  Battling  daily  with  trap  and  spade  against 
the  importunate  excavator  who  uproots  his  crops,  he  is 


BURYING-BEETLES:     THE  BURIAL      65 

in  a  better  position  than  any  one  else  to  procure  for  me 
that  which  I  regard  for  the  moment  as  more  precious 
than  his  bunches  of  asparagus  or  his  white-heart  cab- 


The  worthy  man  at  first  laughs  at  my  request,  being 
greatly  surprised  by  the  importance  which  I  attribute  to 
the  abhorrent  creature,  the  Darboun;  but  at  last  he  con- 
sents, not  without  a  suspicion  at  the  back  of  his  mind 
that  I  am  going  to  make  myself  a  wonderful  flannel-lined 
waistcoat  with  the  soft,  velvety  skins  of  the  Moles,  some- 
thing good  for  pains  in  the  back.  Very  well.  We  settle 
the  matter.  The  essential  thing  is  that  the  Darbouns 
shall  reach  me. 

They  reach  me  punctually,  by  twos,  by  threes,  by 
fours,  packed  in  a  few  cabbage-leaves,  at  the  bottom  of 
the  gardener's  basket.  The  worthy  man  who  lent  him- 
self with  such  good  grace  to  my  strange  requirements 
will  never  guess  how  much  comparative  psychology  will 
owe  him!  In  a  few  days  I  was  the  possessor  of  thirty 
Moles,  which  were  scattered  here  and  there,  as  they 
reached  me,  in  bare  portions  of  the  orchard,  amid  the 
rosemary-bushes,  the  arbutus-trees,  and  the  lavender- 
beds. 

Now  it  only  remained  to  wait  and  to  examine,  several 
times  a  day,  the  under-side  of  my  little  corpses,  a  dis- 
gusting task  which  any  one  would  avoid  who  had  not 
the  sacred  fire  in  his  veins.  Only  little  Paul,  of  all  the 
household,  lent  me  the  aid  of  his  nimble  hand  to  seize 
the  fugitives.  I  have  already  stated  that  the  entomologist 
has  need  of  simplicity  of  mind.  In  this  important  busi- 


66         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

ness  of  the  Necrophori,  my  assistants  were  a  child  and  an 
illiterate. 

Little  Paul's  visits  alternating  with  mine,  we  had  not 
long  to  wait.  The  four  winds  of  heaven  bore  forth  in  all 
directions  the  odor  of  the  carrion;  and  the  undertakers 
hurried  up,  so  that  the  experiments,  begun  with  four 
subjects,  were  continued  with  fourteen,  a  number  not  at- 
tained during  the  whole  of  my  previous  searches,  which 
were  unpremeditated  and  in  which  no  bait  was  used  as 
decoy.  My  trapper's  ruse  was  completely  successful. 

Before  I  report  the  results  obtained  in  the  cage,  let  us 
for  a  moment  stop  to  consider  the  normal  conditions  of 
the  labors  that  fall  to  the  lot  of  the  Necrophori.  The 
Beetle  does  not  select  his  head  of  game,  choosing  one  in 
proportion  to  his  strength,  as  do  the  predatory  Wasps; 
he  accepts  it  as  hazard  presents  it  to  him.  Among  his 
finds  there  are  little  creatures,  such  as  the  Shrew-mouse ; 
animals  of  medium  size,  such  as  the  Field-mouse;  and 
enormous  beasts,  such  as  the  Mole,  the  Sewer-rat  and  the 
Snake,  any  of  which  exceeds  the  powers  of  excavation  of 
a  single  grave-digger.  In  the  majority  of  cases  transpor- 
tation is  impossible,  so  disproportioned  is  the  burden  to 
the  motive-power.  A  slight  displacement,  caused  by  the 
effort  of  the  insects'  backs,  is  all  that  can  possibly  be 
effected. 

Ammophilus  and  Cerceris,  Sphex  and  Pompilus  ex- 
cavate their  burrows  wherever  they  please;  they  carry 
their  prey  thither  on  the  wing,  or,  if  too  heavy,  drag  it 
afoot.  The  Necrophorus  knows  no  such  facilities  in  his 
task.  Incapable  of  carrying  the  monstrous  corpse,  no 


BURYING-BEETLES:     THE  BURIAL      67 

matter  where  encountered,  he  is  forced  to  dig  the  grave 
where  the  body  lies. 

This  obligatory  place  of  sepulture  may  be  in  stony  soil; 
it  may  occupy  this  or  that  bare  spot,  or  some  other  where 
the  grass,  especially  the  couch-grass,  plunges  into  the 
ground  its  inextricable  network  of  little  cords.  There 
is  a  great  probability,  too,  that  a  bristle  of  stunted 
brambles  may  support  the  body  at  some  inches  from  the 
soil.  Slung  by  the  laborers'  spade,  which  has  just  broken 
his  back,  the  Mole  falls  here,  there,  anywhere,  at  ran- 
dom; and  where  the  body  falls,  no  matter  what  the  ob- 
stacles—  provided  they  be  not  insurmountable  —  there 
the  undertaker  must  utilize  it. 

The  difficulties  of  inhumation  are  capable  of  such 
variety  as  causes  us  already  to  foresee  that  the  Necro- 
phorus  cannot  employ  fixed  methods  in  the  accomplish- 
ment of  his  labors.  Exposed  to  fortuitous  hazards,  he 
must  be  able  to  modify  his  tactics  within  the  limits  of  his 
modest  perceptions.  To  saw,  to  break,  to  disentangle, 
to  lift,  to  shake,  to  displace:  these  are  so  many  methods 
of  procedure  which  are  indispensable  to  the  grave-digger 
in  a  predicament.  Deprived  of  these  resources,  reduced 
to  uniformity  of  method,  the  insect  would  be  incapable 
of  pursuing  the  calling  which  has  fallen  to  its  lot. 

We  see  at  once  how  imprudent  it  would  be  to  draw 
conclusions  from  an  isolated  case  in  which  rational  co- 
ordination or  premeditated  intention  might  appear  to 
intervene.  Every  instinctive  action  no  doubt  has  its  mo- 
tive; but  does  the  animal  in  the  first  place  judge  whether 
the  action  is  opportune  ?  Let  us  begin  by  a  careful  con- 


68         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

sideration  of  the  creature's  labors;  let  us  support  each 
piece  of  evidence  by  others;  and  then  we  shall  be  able  to 
answer  the  question. 

First  of  all,  a  word  as  to  diet.  A  general  scavenger, 
the  Burying-beetle  refuses  nothing  in  the  way  of  cadaveric 
putridity.  All  is  good  to  his  senses,  feathered  game  or 
furry,  provided  that  the  burden  do  not  exceed  his  strength. 
He  exploits  the  batrachian  or  the  reptile  with  no  less 
animation.  He  accepts  without  hesitation  extraordinary 
finds,  probably  unknown  to  his  race,  as  witness  a  certain 
Gold-fish,  a  red  Chinese  Carp,  whose  body,  placed  in  one 
of  my  cages,  was  instantly  considered  an  excellent  tit-bit 
and  buried  according  to  the  rules.  Nor  is  butcher's  meat 
despised.  A  mutton-cutlet,  a  strip  of  beefsteak,  in  the 
right  stage  of  maturity,  disappeared  beneath  the  soil, 
receiving  the  same  attentions  as  those  which  were  lav- 
ished on  the  Mole  or  the  Mouse.  In  short,  the  Necro- 
phorus  has  no  exclusive  preferences;  anything  putrid  he 
conveys  underground. 

The  maintenance  of  his  industry,  therefore,  presents 
no  sort  of  difficulty.  If  one  kind  of  game  be  lacking, 
some  other  —  the  first  to  hand  —  will  very  well  replace 
it.  Neither  is  there  much  trouble  in  establishing  the  site 
of  his  industry.  A  capacious  dish-cover  of  wire-gauze  is 
sufficient,  resting  on  an  earthen  pan  filled  to  the  brim  with 
fresh,  heaped  sand.  To  obviate  criminal  attempts  on 
the  part  of  the  Cats,  whom  the  game  would  not  fail  to 
tempt,  the  cage  is  installed  in  a  closed  room  with  glazed 
windows,  which  in  winter  is  the  refuge  of  the  plants  and 
in  summer  an  entomological  laboratory. 


BURYING-BEETLES:     THE  BURIAL      69 

Now  to  work.  The  Mole  lies  in  the  center  of  the  in- 
closure.  The  soil,  easily  shifted  and  homogeneous, 
realizes  the  best  conditions  for  comfortable  work.  Four 
Necrophori,  three  males  and  a  female,  are  there  with  the 
body.  They  remain  invisible,  hidden  beneath  the  carcass, 
which  from  time  to  time  seems  to  return  to  life,  shaken 
from  end  to  end  by  the  backs  of  the  workers.  An  ob- 
server not  in-the  secret  would  be  somewhat  astonished  to 
see  the  dead  creature  move.  From  time  to  time,  one  of 
the  sextons,  almost  always  a  male,  emerges  and  goes  the 
rounds  of  the  animal,  which  he  explores,  probing  its  vel- 
vet coat.  He  hurriedly  returns,  appears  again,  once 
more  investigates  and  creeps  back  under  the  corpse. 

The  tremors  become  more  pronounced;  the  carcass 
oscillates,  while  a  cushion  of  sand,  pushed  outward  from 
below,  grows  up  all  about  it.  The  Mole,  by  reason  of 
his  own  weight  and  the  efforts  of  the  grave-diggers,  who 
are  laboring  at  their  task  beneath  him,  gradually  sinks, 
for  lack  of  support,  into  the  undermined  soil. 

Presently  the  sand  which  has  been  pushed  outward 
quivers  under  the  thrust  of  the  invisible  miners,  slips  into 
the  pit  and  covers  the  interred  Mole.  It  is  a  clandestine 
burial.  The  body  seems  to  disappear  of  itself,  as  though 
engulfed  by  a  fluid  medium.  For  a  long  time  yet,  until 
the  depth  is  regarded  as  sufficient,  the  body  will  continue 
to  descend. 

It  is,  when  all  is  taken  into  account,  a  very  simple 
operation.  As  the  diggers,  underneath  the  corpse,  deepen 
the  cavity  into  which  it  sinks,  tugged  and  shaken  by  the 
sextons,  the  grave,  without  their  intervention,  fills  of 


70         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

itself  by  the  mere  downfall  of  the  shaken  soil.  Useful 
shovels  at  the  tips  of  their  claws,  powerful  backs,  capable 
of  creating  a  little  earthquake :  the  diggers  need  nothing 
more  for  the  practice  of  their  profession.  Let  us  add  — 
for  this  is  an  essential  point  —  the  art  of  continually 
jerking  and  shaking  the  body,  so  as  to  pack  it  into  a 
lesser  volume  and  cause  it  to  pass  when  passage  is  ob- 
structed. We  shall  presently  see  that  this  art  plays  a 
part  of  the  greatest  importance  in  the  industry  of  the 
Necrophori. 

Although  he  has  disappeared,  the  Mole  is  still  far  from 
having  reached  his  destination.  Let  us  leave  the  under- 
takers to  complete  their  task.  What  they  are  now  doing 
below  ground  is  a  continuation  of  what  they  did  on  the 
surface  and  would  teach  us  nothing  new.  We  will  wait 
for  two  or  three  days. 

The  moment  has  come.  Let  us  inform  ourselves  of 
what  is  happening  down  there.  Let  us  visit  the  retting- 
vat.  I  shall  invite  no  one  to  be  present  at  the  exhuma- 
tion. Of  those  about  me,  only  little  Paul  has  the  courage 
to  assist  me. 

The  Mole  is  a  Mole  no  longer,  but  a  greenish  horror, 
putrid,  hairless,  shrunk  into  a  round,  greasy  mass.  The 
thing  must  have  undergone  careful  manipulation  to  be 
thus  condensed  into  a  small  volume,  like  a  fowl  in  the 
hands  of  the  cook,  and,  above  all,  to  be  so  completely  de- 
prived of  its  fur.  Is  this  culinary  procedure  undertaken 
in  respect  of  the  larvae,  which  might  be  incommoded  by 
the  fur?  Or,  is  it  just  a  casual  result,  a  mere  loss  of  hair 
due  to  putridity?  I  am  not  certain.  But  it  is  always 


BURYING-BEETLES:    THE  BURIAL      71 

the  case  that  these  exhumations,  from  first  to  last,  have 
revealed  the  furry  game  furless  and  the  feathered  game 
featherless,  except  for  the  tail-feathers  and  the  pinion- 
feathers  of  the  wings.  Reptiles  and  fish,  on  the  other 
hand,  retain  their  scales. 

Let  us  return  to  the  unrecognizable  thing  which  was 
once  a  Mole.  The  tit-bit  lies  in  a  spacious  crypt,  with 
firm  walls,  a  regular  workshop,  worthy  of  being  the  bake- 
house of  a  Copris-beetle.  Except  for  the  fur,  which  is 
lying  in  scattered  flocks,  it  is  intact.  The  grave-diggers 
have  not  eaten  into  it;  it  is  the  patrimony  of  the  sons, 
not  the  provision  of  the  parents,  who,  in  order  to  sustain 
themselves,  levy  at  most  a  few  mouth fuls  of  the  ooze  of 
putrid  humors. 

Beside  the  dish  which  they  are  kneading  and  protecting 
are  two  Necrophori;  a  couple,  no  more.  Four  collabo- 
rated in  the  burial.  What  has  become  of  the  other  two, 
both  males  ?  I  find  them  hidden  in  the  soil,  at  a  distance, 
almost  at  the  surface. 

This  observation  is  not  an  isolated  one.  Whenever  I 
am  present  at  a  burial  undertaken  by  a  squad  in  which  the 
males,  zealous  one  and  all,  predominate,  I  find  presently, 
when  the  burial  is  completed,  only  one  couple  in  the  mor- 
tuary cellar.  Having  lent  their  assistance,  the  rest  have 
discreetly  retired. 

These  grave-diggers,  in  truth,  are  remarkable  fathers. 
They  have  nothing  of  the  happy-go-lucky  paternal  care- 
lessness that  is  the  general  rule  among  insects,  which 
plague  and  pester  the  mother  for  a  moment  with  their  at- 
tentions and  thereupon  leave  her  to  care  for  the  offspring ! 


72         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

But  those  who  in  the  other  races  are  unemployed  in  this 
case  labor  valiantly,  now  in  the  interest  of  their  own 
family,  now  for  the  sake  of  another's,  without  distinction. 
If  a  couple  is  in  difficulties,  helpers  arrive,  attracted  by 
the  odor  of  carrion;  anxious  to  serve  a  lady,  they  creep 
under  the  body,  work  at  it  with  back  and  claw,  bury  it  and 
then  go  their  ways,  leaving  the  householders  to  their 
happiness. 

For  some  time  longer  these  latter  manipulate  the  mor- 
sel in  concert,  stripping  it  of  fur  or  feather,  trussing  it 
and  allowing  it  to  simmer  to  the  taste  of  the  larvae. 
When  all  is  in  order,  the  couple  go  forth,  dissolving  their 
partnership,  and  each,  following  his  fancy,  recommences 
elsewhere,  even  if  only  as  a  mere  auxiliary. 

Twice  and  no  oftener  hitherto  have  I  found  the  father 
preoccupied  by  the  future  of  his  sons  and  laboring  in 
order  to  leave  them  rich :  it  happens  with  certain  Dung- 
beetles  and  with  the  Necrophori,  who  bury  dead  bodies. 
Scavengers  and  undertakers  both  have  exemplary  morals. 
Who  would  look  for  virtue  in  such  a  quarter? 

What  follows  —  the  larval  existence  and  the  metamor- 
phosis —  is  a  secondary  detail  and,  for  that  matter,  fa- 
miliar. It  is  a  dry  subject  and  I  shall  deal  with  it  briefly. 
About  the  end  of  May,  I  exhume  a  Brown  Rat,  buried  by 
the  grave-diggers  a  fortnight  earlier.  Transformed  into 
a  black,  sticky  jelly,  the  horrible  dish  provides  me  with 
fifteen  larvae,  already,  for  the  most  part,  of  the  normal 
size.  A  few  adults,  connections,  assuredly,  of  the  brood, 
are  also  stirring  amid  the  infected  mass.  The  period  of 
hatching  is  over  now;  and  food  is  plentiful.  Having 


BURYING-BEETLES:    THE  BURIAL      73 

nothing  else  to  do,  the  foster-parents  have  sat  down  to 
the  feast  with  the  nurselings. 

The  undertakers  are  quick  at  rearing  a  family.  It  is  at 
most  a  fortnight  since  the  Rat  was  laid  in  the  earth ;  and 
here  already  is  a  vigorous  population  on  the  verge  of 
the  metamorphosis.  Such  precocity  amazes  me.  It 
would  seem  as  though  the  liquefaction  of  carrion,  deadly 
to  any  other  stomach,  is  in  this  case  a  food  productive  of 
especial  energy,  which  stimulates  the  organism  and  ac- 
celerates its  growth,  so  that  the  victuals  may  be  consumed 
before  its  approaching  conversion  into  mold.  Living 
chemistry  makes  haste  to  outstrip  the  ultimate  reactions 
of  mineral  chemistry. 

White,  naked,  blind,  possessing  the  habitual  attributes 
of  life  in  darkness,  the  larva,  with  its  lanceolate  outline, 
is  slightly  reminiscent  of  the  grub  of  the  Ground-beetle. 
The  mandibles  are  black  and  powerful,  making  excellent 
scissors  for  dissection.  The  limbs  are  short,  but  capable 
of  a  quick,  toddling  gait.  The  segments  of  the  abdo- 
men are  armored  on  the  upper  surface  with  a  narrow 
reddish  plate,  armed  with  four  tiny  spikes,  whose  office 
apparently  is  to  furnish  points  of  support  when  the  larva 
quits  the  natal  dwelling  and  dives  into  the  soil,  there  to 
undergo  the  transformation.  The  thoracic  segments  are 
provided  with  wider  plates,  but  unarmed. 

The  adults  discovered  in  the  company  of  their  larval 
family,  in  this  putridity  that  was  a  Rat,  are  all  abomin- 
ably verminous.  So  shiny  and  neat  in  their  attire,  when 
at  work  under  the  first  Moles  of  April,  the  Necrophori, 
when  June  approaches,  become  odious  to  look  upon.  A 


74         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

layer  of  parasites  envelops  them;  insinuating  itself  into 
the  joints,  it  forms  an  almost  continuous  surface.  The 
insect  presents  a  misshapen  appearance  under  this  over- 
coat of  vermin,  which  my  hair-pencil  can  hardly  brush 
aside.  Driven  off  the  belly,  the  horde  make  the  tour  of 
the  sufferer  and  encamp  on  his  back,  refusing  to  relin- 
quish their  hold. 

I  recognize  among  them  the  Beetle's  Gamasis,  the  Tick 
who  so  often  soils  the  ventral  amethyst  of  our  Geotrupes. 
No;  the  prizes  of  life  do  not  fall  to  the  share  of  the  use- 
ful. Necrophori  and  Geotrupes  devote  themselves  to 
works  of  general  salubrity;  and  these  two  corporations, 
so  interesting  in  the  accomplishment  of  their  hygienic 
functions,  so  remarkable  for  their  domestic  morality,  are 
given  over  to  the  vermin  of  poverty.  Alas,  of  this  dis- 
crepancy between  the  services  rendered  and  the  harsh- 
ness of  life  there  are  many  other  examples  outside  the 
world  of  scavengers  and  undertakers ! 

The  Bury  ing-beetles  display  an  exemplary  domestic 
morality,  but  it  does  not  persist  until  the  end.  During 
the  first  fortnight  of  June,  the  family  being  sufficiently 
provided  for,  the  sextons  strike  work  and  my  cages  are 
deserted,  so  far  as  the  surface  is  concerned,  in  spite  of 
new  arrivals  of  Mice  and  Sparrows.  From  time  to  time 
some  grave-digger  leaves  the  subsoil  and  comes  crawling 
languidly  in  the  fresh  air. 

Another  rather  curious  fact  now  attracts  my  attention. 
All,  as  soon  as  they  emerge  from  underground,  are 
cripples,  whose  limbs  have  been  amputated  at  the  joints, 
some  higher  up,  some  lower  down.  I  see  one  mutilated 


BURYING-BEETLES:    THE  BURIAL      75 

Beetle  who  has  only  one  leg  left  entire.  With  this  odd 
limb  and  the  stumps  of  the  others  lamentably  tattered, 
scaly  with  vermin,  he  rows  himself,  as  it  were,  over  the 
dusty  surface.  A  comrade  emerges,  one  better  off  for 
legs,  who  finishes  the  cripple  and  cleans  out  his  abdomen. 
So  my  thirteen  remaining  Necrophori  end  their  days, 
half-devoured  by  their  companions,  or  at  least  shorn  of 
several  limbs.  The  pacific  relations  of  the  outset  are 
succeeded  by  cannibalism. 

History  tells  us  that  certain  peoples,  the  Massagetse 
and  others,  used  to  kill  their  aged  folk  in  order  to  spare 
them  the  miseries  of  senility.  The  fatal  blow  on  the 
hoary  skull  was  in  their  eyes  an  act  of  filial  piety.  The 
Necrophori  have  their  share  of  these  ancient  barbarities. 
Full  of  days  and  henceforth  useless,  dragging  out  a  weary 
existence,  they  mutually  exterminate  one  another.  Why 
prolong  the  agony  of  the  impotent  and  the  imbecile? 

The  Massagetae  might  invoke,  as  an  excuse  for  their 
atrocious  custom,  a  dearth  of  provisions,  which  is  an  evil 
counselor;  not  so  the  Necrophori,  for,  thanks  to  my 
generosity,  victuals  are  superabundant,  both  beneath  the 
soil  and  on  the  surface.  Famine  plays  no  part  in  this 
slaughter.  Here  we  have  the  aberration  of  exhaustion, 
the  morbid  fury  of  a  life  on  the  point  of  extinction.  As 
is  generally  the  case,  work  bestows  a  peaceable  disposition 
on  the  grave-digger,  while  inaction  inspires  him  with  per- 
verted tastes.  Having  no  longer  anything  to  do  he  breaks 
his  fellow's  limbs,  eats  him  up,  heedless  of  being  muti- 
lated or  eaten  up  himself.  This  is  the  ultimate  deliver- 
ance of  verminous  old  age. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   BURYING-BEETLES  I      EXPERIMENTS 

LET  us  proceed  to  the  rational  prowess  which  has  earned 
for  the  Necrophorus  the  better  part  of  his  renown  and, 
to  begin  with,  let  us  submit  the  case  related  by  Clairville 
—  that  of  the  too  hard  soil  and  the  call  for  assistance  — 
to  experimental  test. 

With  this  object  in  view,  I  pave  the  center  of  the  space 
beneath  the  cover,  level  with  the  soil,  with  a  brick  and 
sprinkle  the  latter  with  a  thin  layer  of  sand.  This 
will  be  the  soil  in  which  digging  is  impracticable.  All 
about  it,  for  some  distance  and  on  the  same  level,  spreads 
the  loose  soil,  which  is  easy  to  dig. 

In  order  to  approximate  to  the  conditions  of  the  little 
story,  I  must  have  a  Mouse ;  with  a  Mole,  a  heavy  mass, 
the  work  of  removal  would  perhaps  present  too  much 
difficulty.  To  obtain  the  Mouse  I  place  my  friends  and 
neighbors  under  requisition ;  they  laugh  at  my  whim  but 
none  the  less  proffer  their  traps.  Yet,  the  moment  a 
Mouse  is  needed,  that  very  common  animal  becomes  rare. 
Braving  decorum  in  his  speech,  which  follows  the  Latin 
of  his  ancestors,  the  Provengal  says,  but  even  more 
crudely  than  in  my  translation:  "If  you  look  for  dung, 
the  Asses  become  constipated !  " 

At  last  I  possess  the  Mouse  of  my  dreams !  She  comes 
76 


BURYING-BEETLES:     EXPERIMENTS      77 

to  me  from  that  refuge,  furnished  with  a  truss  of  straw, 
in  which  official  charity  gives  the  hospitality  of  a  day  to 
the  beggar  wandering  over  the  face  of  the  fertile  earth ; 
from  that  municipal  hostel  whence  one  inevitably  emerges 
verminous.  O  Reaumur,  who  used  to  invite  marquises 
to  see  your  caterpillars  change  their  skins,  what  would 
you  have  said  of  a  future  disciple  conversant  with  such 
wretchedness  as  this  ?  Perhaps  it  is  well  that  we  should 
not  be  ignorant  of  it,  so  that  we  may  take  compassion  on 
the  sufferings  of  beasts. 

The  Mouse  so  greatly  desired  is  mine.  I  place  her 
upon  the  center  of  the  brick.  The  grave-diggers  under 
the  wire  cover  are  now  seven  in  number,  of  whom  three 
are  females.  All  have  gone  to  earth:. some  are  inactive, 
close  to  the  surface;  the  rest  are  busy  in  their  crypts. 
The  presence  of  the  fresh  corpse  is  promptly  perceived. 
About  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  three  Necrophori 
hurry  up,  two  males  and  a  female.  They  slip  under  the 
Mouse,  who  moves  in  jerks,  a  sign  of  the  efforts  of  the 
burying-party.  An  attempt  is  made  to  dig  into  the  layer 
of  sand  which  hides  the  brick,  so  that  a  bank  of  sand 
accumulates  about  the  body. 

For  a  couple  of  hours  the  jerks  continue  without  re- 
sults. I  profit  by  the  circumstance  to  investigate  the 
manner  in  which  the  work  is  performed.  The  bare 
brick  allows  me  to  see  what  the  excavated  soil  concealed 
from  me.  If  it  is  necessary  to  move  the  body,  the  Beetle 
turns  over;  with  his  six  claws  he  grips  the  hair  of  the 
dead  animal,  props  himself  upon  his  back  and  pushes, 
making  a  lever  of  his  head  and  the  tip  of  his  abdomen. 


78          THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

If  digging  is  required,  he  resumes  the  normal  position. 
So,  turn  and  turn  about,  the  sexton  strives,  now  with  his 
claws  in  the  air,  when  it  is  a  question  of  shifting  the  body 
or  dragging  it  lower  down;  now  with  his  feet  on  the 
ground,  when  it  is  necessary  to  deepen  the  grave; 

The  point  at  which  the  Mouse  lies  is  finally  recog- 
nized as  unassailable.  A  male  appears  in  the  open.  He 
explores  the  specimen,  goes  the  round  of  it,  scratches  a 
little  at  random.  He  goes  back;  and  immediately  the 
body  rocks.  Is  he  advising  his  collaborators  of  what  he 
has  discovered  ?  Is  he  arranging  matters  with  a  view  to 
their  establishing  themselves  elsewhere,  on  propitious 
soil? 

The  facts  are  far  from  confirming  this  idea.  When 
he  shakes  the  body  the  others  imitate  him  and  push, 
but  without  combining  their  efforts  in  a  given  direction, 
for,  after  advancing  a  little  towards  the  edge  of  the 
brick,  the  burden  goes  back  again,  returning  to  the  point 
of  departure.  In  the  absence  of  any  concerted  under- 
standing, their  efforts  of  leverage  are  wasted.  Nearly 
three  hours  are  occupied  by  oscillations  which  mutually 
annul  one  another.  The  Mouse  does  not  cross  the  little 
sand-hill  heaped  about  it  by  the  rakes  of  the  workers. 

For  the  second  time  a  male  emerges  and  makes  a  round 
of  exploration.  A  bore  is  made  in  workable  earth, 
close  beside  the  brick.  This  is  a  trial  excavation,  to  re- 
veal the  nature  of  the  soil;  a  narrow  well,  of  no  great 
depth,  into  which  the  insect  plunges  to  half  its  length. 
The  well-sinker  returns  to  the  other  workers,  who  arch 


BURYING-BEETLES:     EXPERIMENTS       79 

their  backs,  and  the  load  progresses  a  finger 's-breadth 
towards  the  point  recognized  as  favorable.  Have  they 
done  the  trick  this  time?  No,  for  after  a  while  the 
Mouse  recoils.  No  progress  towards  a  solution  of  the 
difficulty. 

Now  two  males  come  out  in  search  of  information, 
each  of  his  own  accord.  Instead  of  stopping  at  the  point 
already  sounded,  a  point  most  judiciously  chosen,  it 
seemed,  on  account  of  its  proximity,  which  would  save 
laborious  transportation,  they  precipitately  scour  the 
whole  area  of  the  cage,  sounding  the  soil  on  this  side  and 
on  that  and  plowing  superficial  furrows  in  it.  They  get 
as  far  from  the  brick  as  the  limits  of  the  enclosure  permit. 

They  dig,  by  preference,  against  the  base  of  the  cover ; 
here  they  make  several  borings,  without  any  reason,  so 
far  as  I  can  see,  the  bed  of  soil  being  everywhere  equally 
assailable  away  from  the  brick ;  the  first  point  sounded  is 
abandoned  for  a  second,  which  is  rejected  in  its  turn.  A 
third  and  a  fourth  are  tried;  then  another  and  yet  an- 
other. At  the  sixth  point  the  selection  is  made.  In  all 
these  cases  the  excavation  is  by  no  means  a  grave  des- 
tined to  receive  the  Mouse,  but  a  mere  trial  boring,  of  in- 
considerable depth,  its  diameter  being  that  of  the  digger's 
body. 

A  return  is  made  to  the  Mouse,  who  suddenly  quivers, 
oscillates,  advances,  recoils,  first  in  one  direction,  then  in 
another,  until  in  the  end  the  little  hillock  of  sand  is 
crossed.  Now  we  are  free  of  the  brick  and  on  excellent 
soil.  Little  by  little  the  load  advances.  This  is  no  cart- 


80         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

age  by  a  team  hauling  in  the  open,  but  a  jerky  displace- 
ment, the  work  of  invisible  levers.  The  body  seems  to 
move  of  its  own  accord. 

This  time,  after  so  many  hesitations,  their  efforts  are 
concerted;  at  all  events,  the  load  reaches  the  region 
sounded  far  more  rapidly  than  I  expected.  Then  begins 
the  burial,  according  to  the  usual  method.  It  is  one 
o'clock.  The  Necrophori  have  allowed  the  hour-hand 
of  the  clock  to  go  half  round  the  dial  while  verifying  the 
condition  of  the  surrounding  spots  and  displacing  the 
Mouse. 

In  this  experiment  it  appears  at  the  outset  that  the 
males  play  a  major  part  in  the  affairs  of  the  household. 
Better-equipped,  perhaps,  than  their  mates,  they  make 
investigations  when  a  difficulty  occurs;  they  inspect  the 
soil,  recognize  whence  the  check  arises  and  choose  the 
point  at  which  the  grave  shall  be  made.  In  the  lengthy 
experiment  of  the  brick,  the  two  males  alone  explored 
the  surroundings  and  set  to  work  to  solve  the  difficulty. 
Confiding  in  their  assistance,  the  female,  motionless  be- 
neath the  Mouse,  awaited  the  result  of  their  investiga- 
tions. The  tests  which  are  to  follow  will  confirm  the 
merits  of  these  valiant  auxiliaries. 

In  the  second  place,  the  point  where  the  Mouse  lay 
being  recognized  as  presenting  an  insurmountable  resist- 
ance, there  was  no  grave  dug  in  advance,  a  little  farther 
off,  in  the  light  soil.  All  attempts  were  limited,  I  repeat, 
to  shallow  soundings  which  informed  the  insect  of  the 
possibility  of  inhumation. 

It  is  absolute  nonsense  to  speak  of  their  first  preparing 


BUR  YING-BEETLES :    EXPERIMENTS      8 1 

the  grave  to  which  the  body  will  afterwards  be  carted. 
To  excavate  the  soil,  our  grave-diggers  must  feel  the 
weight  of  their  dead  on  their  backs.  They  work  only 
when  stimulated  by  the  contact  of  its  fur.  Never,  never 
in  this  world  do  they  venture  to  dig  a  grave  unless  the 
body  to  be  buried  already  occupies  the  site  of  the  cavity. 
This  is  absolutely  confirmed  by  my  two  and  a  half  months 
and  more  of  daily  observations. 

The  rest  of  Clairville's  anecdote  bears  examination  no 
better.  We  are  told  that  the  Necrophorus  in  difficulties 
goes  in  search  of  assistance  and  returns  with  companions 
who  assist  him  to  bury  the  Mouse.  This,  in  another 
form,  is  the  edifying  story  of  the  Sacred  Beetle  whose 
pellet  had  rolled  into  a  rut.  Powerless  to  withdraw  his 
treasure  from  the  gulf,  the  wily  Dung-beetle  called  to- 
gether three  or  four  of  his  neighbors,  who  benevolently 
recovered  the  pellet,  returning  to  their  labors  after  the 
work  of  salvage. 

The  exploit  —  so  ill-interpreted  —  of  the  thieving  pill- 
roller  sets  me  on  my  guard  against  that  of  the  under- 
taker. Shall  I  be  too  exigent  if  I  enquire  what  precau- 
tions the  observer  adopted  to  recognize  the  owner  of  the 
Mouse  on  his  return,  when  he  reappears,  as  we  are  told, 
with  four  assistants?  What  sign  denotes  that  one  of  the 
five  who  was  able,  in  so  rational  a  manner,  to  appeal  for 
help?  Can  one  even  be  sure  that  the  .one  to  disappear  re- 
turns and  forms  one  of  the  band?  There  is  nothing 
to  indicate  it;  and  this  was  the  essential  point  which  a 
sterling  observer  was  bound  not  to  neglect.  Were  they 
not  rather  five  chance  Necrophori  who,  guided  by  the 


82          THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

smell,  without  any  previous  understanding,  hastened  to 
the  abandoned  Mouse  to  exploit  her  on  their  own  ac- 
count? I  incline  to  this  opinion,  the  most  likely  of  all 
in  the  absence  of  exact  information. 

Probability  becomes  certainty  if  we  submit  the  case  to 
the  verification  of  experiment.  The  test  with  the  brick 
already  gives  us  some  information.  For  six  hours  my 
three  specimens  exhausted  themselves  in  efforts  before 
they  got  to  the  length  of  removing  their  booty  and  placing 
it  on  practicable  soil.  In  this  long  and  heavy  task  help- 
ful neighbors  would  have  been  anything  but  unwelcome. 
Four  other  Necrophori,  buried  here  and  there  under  a 
little  sand,  comrades  and  acquaintances,  helpers  of  the 
day  before,  were  occupying  the  same  cage;  and  not  one 
of  those  concerned  thought  of  summoning  them  to  give 
assistance.  Despite  their  extreme  embarrassment,  the 
owners  of  the  Mouse  accomplished  their  task  to  the  end, 
without  the  least  help,  though  this  could  have  been  so  eas- 
ily requisitioned. 

Being  three,  one  might  say,  they  considered  themselves 
sufficiently  strong ;  they  needed  no  one  else  to  lend  them  a 
hand.  The  objection  does  not  hold  good.  On  many  oc- 
casions and  under  conditions  even  more  difficult  than 
those  presented  by  a  stony  soil,  I  have  again  and  again 
seen  isolated  Necrophori  exhausting  themselves  in  striv- 
ing1 against  my  artifices;  yet  not  once  did  they  leave 
.their  work  to  recruit  helpers.  Collaborators,  it  is  true, 
did  often  arrive,  but  they  were  convoked  by  their  sense  of 
smell ;  not  by  the  first  possessor.  They  were  fortuitous 
helpers ;  they  were  never  called  in.  They  were  welcomed 


BURYING-BEETLES:     EXPERIMENTS       83 

without  disagreement,  but  also  without  gratitude.  They 
were  not  summoned ;  they  were  tolerated.  In  the  glazed 
shelter  where  I  keep  the  cage  I  happened  to  catch  one  of 
these  chance  assistants  in  the  act.  Passing  that  way  in 
the  night  and  scenting  dead  flesh,  he  had  entered  where 
none  of  his  kind  had  yet  penetrated  of  his  own  free  will. 
I  surprised  him  on  the  wire-gauze  dome  of  the  cover. 
If  the  wire  had  not  prevented  him,  he  would  have  set  to 
work  incontinently,  in  company  with  the  rest.  Had 
my  captives  invited  him?  Assuredly  not.  He  had 
hastened  thither  attracted  by  the  odor  of  the  Mole,  heed- 
less of  the  efforts  of  others.  So  it  was  with  those  whose 
obliging  assistance  is  extolled.  I  repeat,  in  respect  of 
their  imaginary  prowess,  what  I  have  said  elsewhere  of 
that  of  the  Sacred  Beetles:  the  story  is  a  childish  one, 
worthy  of  ranking  with  any  fairy-tale  written  for  the 
amusement  of  the  simple. 

A  hard  soil,  necessitating  the  removal  of  the  body,  is 
not  the  only  difficulty  familiar  to  the  Necrophori.  Often, 
perhaps  more  often  than  not,  the  ground  is  covered  with 
grass,  above  all  with  couch-grass,  whose  tenacious  root- 
lets form  an  inextricable  network  below  the  surface.  To 
dig  in  the  interstices  is  possible,  but  to  drag  the  dead  ani- 
mal through  them  is  another  matter:  the  meshes  of  the 
net  are  too  close  to  give  it  passage.  Will  the  grave- 
digger  find  himself  reduced  to  impotence  by  such  an  im- 
pediment, which  must  be  an  extremely  common  one? 
That  could  not  be. 

Exposed  to  this  or  that  habitual  obstacle  in  the  exercise 
of  his  calling,  the  animal  is  always  equipped  accordingly ; 


84         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

otherwise  his  profession  would  be  impracticable.  No  end 
is  attained  without  the  necessary  means  and  aptitudes. 
Besides  that  of  the  excavator,  the  Necrophorus  certainly 
possesses  another  art :  the  art  of  breaking  the  cables,  the 
roots,  the  stolons,  the  slender  rhizomes  which  check  the 
body's  descent  into  the  grave.  To  the  work  of  the  shovel 
and  the  pick  must  be  added  that  of  the  shears.  All  this 
is  perfectly  logical  and  may  be  foreseen  with  complete 
lucidity.  Nevertheless,  let  us  invoke  experiment,  the  best 
of  witnesses. 

I  borrow  from  the  kitchen-range  an  iron  trivet  whose 
legs  will  supply  a  solid  foundation  for  the  engine  which 
I  am  devising.  This  is  a  coarse  network  of  strips  of 
raphia,  a  fairly  accurate  imitation  of  the  network  of 
couch-grass  roots.  The  very  irregular  meshes  are  no- 
where wide  enough  to  admit  of  the  passage  of  the  creature 
to  be  buried,  which  in  this  case  is  a  Mole.  The  trivet 
is  planted  with  its  three  feet  in  the  soil  of  the  cage;  its 
top  is  level  with  the  surface  of  the  soil.  A  little  sand 
conceals  the  meshes.  The  Mole  is  placed  in  the  center; 
and  my  squad  of  sextons  is  let  loose  upon  the  body. 

Without  a  hitch  the  burial  is  accomplished  in  the  course 
of  an  afternoon.  The  hammock  of  raphia,  almost  equiv- 
alent to  the  natural  network  of  couch-grass  turf,  scarcely 
disturbs  the  process  of  inhumation.  Matters  do  not  go 
forward  quite  so  quickly;  and  that  is  all.  No  attempt  is 
made  to  shift  the  Mole,  who  sinks  into  the  ground  where 
he  lies.  The  operation  completed,  I  remove  the  trivet. 
The  network  is  broken  at  the  spot  where  the  corpse  lay. 


BURYING-BEETLES:    EXPERIMENTS      85 

A  few  strips  have  been  gnawed  through ;  a  small  number, 
only  so  many  as  were  strictly  necessary  to  permit  the 
passage  of  the  body. 

Well  done,  my  undertakers!  I  expected  no  less  of 
your  savoir-faire.  You  have  foiled  the  artifices  of  the 
experimenter  by  employing  your  resources  against  natural 
obstacles.  With  mandibles  for  shears,  you  have  pa- 
tiently cut  my  threads  as  you  would  have  gnawed  the 
cordage  of  the  grass-roots.  This  is  meritorious,  if  not 
deserving  of  exceptional  glorification.  The  most  .limited 
of  the  insects  which  work  in  earth  would  have  done  as 
much  if  subjected  to  similar  conditions. 

Let  us  ascend  a  stage  in  the  series  of  difficulties.  The 
Mole  is  now  fixed  with  a  lashing  of  raphia  fore  and  aft 
to  a  light  horizontal  cross-bar  which  rests  on  two  firmly 
planted  forks.  It  is  like  a  joint  of  venison  on  a  spit, 
though  rather  oddly  fastened.  The  dead  animal  touches 
the  ground  throughout  the  length  of  its  body. 

The  Necrophori  disappear  under  the  corpse,  and, 
feeling  the  contact  of  its  fur,  begins  to  dig.  The  grave 
grows  deeper  and  an  empty  space  appears,  but  the  cov- 
eted object  does  not  descend,  retained  as  it  is  by  the  cross- 
bar which  the  two  forks  keep  in  place.  The  digging 
slackens,  the  hesitations  become  prolonged. 

However,  one  of  the  grave-diggers  ascends  to  the 
surface,  wanders  over  the  Mole,  inspects  him  and  ends 
by  perceiving  the  hinder  strap.  Tenaciously  he  gnaws 
and  ravels  it.  I  hear  the  click  of  the  shears  that 
completes  the  rupture.  Crack!  The  thing  is  done. 


86         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

Dragged  down  by  his  own  weight,  the  Mole  sinks  into 
the  grave,  but  slantwise,  with  his  head  still  outside,  kept 
in  place  by  the  second  ligature. 

The  Beetles  proceed  to  the  burial  of  the  hinder  part  of 
the  Mole;  they  twitch  and  jerk  it  now  in  this  direction, 
now  in  that.  Nothing  comes  of  it;  the  thing  refuses  to 
give.  A  fresh  sortie  is  made  by  one  of  them  to  discover 
what  is  happening  overhead.  The  second  ligature  is 
perceived,  is  severed  in  turn,  and  henceforth  the  work 
proceeds  as  well  as  could  be  desired. 

My  compliments,  perspicacious  cable-cutters!  But  I 
must  not  exaggerate.  The  lashings  of  the  Mole  were 
for  you  the  little  cords  with  which  you  are  so  familiar 
in  turfy  soil.  You  have  severed  them,  as  well  as  the 
hammock  of  the  previous  experiment,  just  as  you  sever 
with  the  blades  of  your  shears  any  natural  filament  which 
stretches  across  your  catacombs.  It  is,  in  your  calling, 
an  indispensable  knack.  If  you  had  had  to  learn  it  by 
experience,  to  think  it  out  before  practising  it,  your  race 
would  have  disappeared,  killed  by  the  hesitations  of  its 
apprenticeship,  for  the  spots  fertile  in  Moles,  Frogs,  Li- 
zards and  other  victuals  to  your  taste  are  usually  grass- 
covered. 

You  are  capable  of  far  better  things  yet;  but,  before 
proceeding  to  these,  let  us  examine  the  case  when  the 
ground  bristles  with  slender  brushwood,  which  holds  the 
corpse  at  a  short  distance  from  the  ground.  Will  the 
find  thus  suspended  by  the  hazard  of  its  fall  remain  un- 
employed? Will  the  Necrophori  pass  on,  indifferent  to 
the  superb  tit-bit  which  they  see  and  smell  a  few  inches 


BURYING-BEETLES:    EXPERIMENTS      87 

above  their  heads,  or  will  they  make  it  descend  from  its 
gibbet? 

Game  does  not  abound  to  such  a  point  that  it  can  be 
disdained  if  a  few  efforts  will  obtain  it.  Before  I  see 
the  thing  happen  I  am  persuaded  that  it  will  fall,  that 
the  Necrophori,  often  confronted  by  the  difficulties  of  a 
body  which  is  not  lying  on  the  soil,  must  possess  the 
instinct  to  shake  it  to  the  ground.  The  fortuitous  sup- 
port of  a  few  bits  of  stubble,  of  a  few  interlaced  bram- 
bles, a  thing  so  common  in  the  fields,  should  not  be  able 
to  baffle  them.  The  overthrow  of  the  suspended  body, 
if  placed  too  high,  should  certainly  form  part  of  their 
instinctive  methods.  For  the  rest,  let  us  watch  them  at 
work. 

I  plant  in  the  sand  of  the  cage  a  meager  tuft  of  thyme. 
The  shrub  is  at  most  some  four  inches  in  height.  In 
the  branches  I  place  a  Mouse,  entangling  the  tail,  the 
paws  and  the  neck  among  the  twigs  in  order  to  increase 
the  difficulty.  The  population  of  the  cage  now  consists 
of  fourteen  Necrophori  and  will  remain  the  same  until 
the  close  of  my  investigations.  Of  course  they  do  not 
all  take  part  simultaneously  in  the  day's  work;  the  ma- 
jority remain  underground,  somnolent,  or  occupied  in 
setting  their  cellars  in  order.  Sometimes  only  one,  often 
two,  -three  or  four,  rarely  more,  busy  themselves  with 
the  dead  creature  which  I  offer  them.  To-day  two 
hasten  to  the  Mouse,  who  is  soon  perceived  overhead  in 
the  tuft  of  thyme. 

They  gain  the  summit  of  the  plant  by  way  of  the  wire 
trellis  of  the  cage.  Here  are  repeated,  with  increased 


88         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

hesitation,  due  to  the  inconvenient  nature  of  the  support, 
the  tactics  employed  to  remove  the  body  when  the  soil  is 
unfavorable.  The  insect  props  itself  against  a  branch, 
thrusting  alternately  with  back  and  claws,  jerking  and 
shaking  vigorously  until  the  point  whereat  it  is  working 
is  freed  from  its  fetters.  In  one  brief  shift,  by  dint  of 
heaving  their  backs,  the  two  collaborators  extricate  the 
body  from  the  entanglement  of  twigs.  Yet  another 
shake;  and  the  Mouse  is  down.  The  burial  follows. 

There  is  nothing  new  in  this  experiment ;  the  find  has 
been  dealt  with  just  as  though  it  lay  upon  soil  unsuitable 
for  burial.  The  fall  is  the  result  of  an  attempt  to  trans- 
port the  load. 

The  time  has  come  to  set  up  the  Frog's  gibbet  cele- 
brated by  Gledditsch.  The  batrachian  is  not  indispen- 
sable; a  Mole  will  serve  as  well  or  even  better.  With 
a  ligament  of  raphia  I  fix  him,  by  his  hind-legs,  to  a 
twig  which  I  plant  vertically  in  the  ground,  inserting  it 
to  no  great  depth.  The  creature  hangs  plumb  against 
the  gibbet,  its  head  and  shoulders  making  ample  contact 
with  the  soil. 

The  grave-diggers  set  to  work  beneath  the  part  which 
lies  upon  the  ground,  at  the  very  foot  of  the  stake ;  they 
dig  a  funnel-shaped  hole,  into  which  the  muzzle,  the  head 
and  the  neck  of  the  mole  sink  little  by  little.  The  gibbet 
becomes  uprooted  as  they  sink  and  eventually  falls, 
dragged  over  by  the  weight  of  its  heavy  burden.  I  am 
assisting  at  the  spectacle  of  the  overturned  stake,  one  of 
the  most  astonishing  examples  of  rational  accomplish- 


EXPERIMENTS 

A  dead  mouse  is  placed  on  the  branches  of  a  tuft  of  thyme.    By 

dint  of  jerking,   shaking  and  tugging  at  the  body,  the   Burying- 

beetles    succeed    in    extricating    it    from    the   twi^s    and    bringing 

it  down 


BURYING-BEETLES:    EXPERIMENTS      89 

ment  which  has  ever  been  recorded  to  the  credit  of  the 
insect. 

This,  for  one  who  is  considering  the  problem  of  in- 
stinct, is  an  exciting  moment.  But  let  us  beware  of 
forming  conclusions  as  yet;  we  might  be  in  too  great  a 
hurry.  Let  us  ask  ourselves  first  whether  the  fall  of  the 
stake  was  intentional  or  fortuitous.  Did  the  Necrophori 
lay  it  bare  with  the  express  intention  of  causing  it  to 
fall  ?  Or  did  they,  on  the  contrary,  dig  at  its  base  solely 
in  order  to  bury  that  part  of  the  mole  which  lay  on  the 
ground?  That  is  the  question,  which,  for  the  rest,  is 
very  easy  to  answer. 

The  experiment  is  repeated;  but  this  time  the  gibbet 
is  slanting  and  the  Mole,  hanging  in  a  vertical  position, 
touches  the  ground  at  a  couple  of  inches  from  the  base 
of  the  gibbet.  Under  these  conditions  absolutely  no  at- 
tempt is  made  to  overthrow  the  latter.  Not  the  least 
scrape  of  a  claw  is  delivered  at  the  foot  of  the  gibbet. 
The  entire  work  of  excavation  is  accomplished  at  a  dis- 
tance, under  the  body,  whose  shoulders  are  lying  on  the 
ground.  There  —  and  there  only  —  a  hole  is  dug  to  re- 
ceive the  free  portion  of  the  body,  the  part  accessible  to 
the  sextons. 

A  difference  of  an  inch  in  the  position  of  the  suspended 
animal  annihilates  the  famous  legend.  Even  so,  many  a 
time,  the  most  elementary  sieve,  handled  with  a  little 
logic,  is  enough  to  winnow  the  confused  mass  of  affirma- 
tions and  to  release  the  good  grain  of  truth. 

Yet  another  shake  of  the  sieve.     The  gibbet  is  oblique 


90         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

or  vertical  indifferently;  but  the  Mole,  always  fixed  by 
a  hinder  limb  to  the  top  of  the  twig,  does  not  touch  the 
soil;  he  hangs  a  few  fingers'-breadths  from  the  ground, 
out  of  the  sextons'  reach. 

What  will  the  latter  do  ?  Will  they  scrape  at  the  foot 
of  the  gibbet  in  order  to  overturn  it?  By  no  means ;  and 
the  ingenuous  observer  who  looked  for  such  tactics  would 
be  greatly  disappointed.  No  attention  is  paid  to  the  base 
of  the  support.  It  is  not  vouchsafed  even  a  stroke  of 
the  rake.  Nothing  is  done  to  overturn  it,  nothing,  abso- 
lutely nothing!  It  is  by  other  methods  that  the  Burying- 
beetles  obtain  the  Mole. 

These  decisive  experiments,  repeated  under  many  dif- 
ferent forms,  prove  that  never,  never  in  this  world  do 
the  Necrophori  dig,  or  even  give  a  superficial  scrape,  at 
the  foot  of  the  gallows,  unless  the  hanging  body  touch 
the  ground  at  that  point.  And,  in  the  latter  case,  if  the 
twig  should  happen  to  fall,  its  fall  is  in  nowise  an  inten- 
tional result,  but  a  mere  fortuitous  effect  of  the  burial 
already  commenced. 

What,  then,  did  the  owner  of  the  Frog  of  whom  Gled- 
ditsch  tells  us  really  see?  If  his  stick  was  overturned, 
the  body  placed  to  dry  beyond  the  assaults  of  the  Necro- 
phori must  certainly  have  touched  the  soil :  a  strange  pre- 
caution against  robbers  and  the  damp!  We  may  fit- 
tingly attribute  more  foresight  to  the  preparer  of  dried 
Frogs  and  allow  him  to  hang  the  creature  some  inches 
from  the  ground.  In  this  case  all  my  experiments  em- 
phatically assert  that  the  fall  of  the  stake  undermined  by 
the  sextons  is  a  pure  matter  of  imagination. 


BUR  YING-BEETLES :    EXPERIMENTS      9 1 

Yet  another  of  the  fine  arguments  in  favor  of  the 
reasoning  power  of  animals  flies  from  the  light  of  in- 
vestigation and  founders  in  the  slough  of  error!  I  ad- 
mire your  simple  faith,  you  masters  who  take  seriously 
the  statements  of  chance-met  observers,  richer  in  imag- 
ination than  in  veracity;  I  admire  your  credulous  zeal, 
when,  without  criticism,  you  build  up  your  theories  on 
such  absurdities. 

Let  us  proceed.  The  stake  is  henceforth  planted  verti- 
cally, but  the  body  hanging  on  it  does  not  reach  the  base : 
a  condition  which  suffices  to  ensure  that  there  is  never 
any  digging  at  this  point.  I  make  use  of  a  Mouse,  who, 
by  reason  of  her  trifling  weight,  will  lend  herself  better 
to  the  insect's  manoeuvers.  The  dead  body  is  fixed  by 
the  hind-legs  to  the  top  of  the  stake  with  a  ligature  of 
raphia.  It  hangs  plumb,  in  contact  with  the  stick. 

Very  soon  two  Necrophori  have  discovered  the  tit-bit. 
They  climb  up  the  miniature  mast ;  they  explore  the  body, 
dividing  its  fur  by  thrusts  of  the  head.  It  is  recognized 
to  be  an  excellent  find.  So  to  work.  Here  we  have 
again,  but  under  far  more  difficult  conditions,  the  tactics 
employed  when  it  was  necessary  to  displace  the  unfavor- 
ably situated  body :  the  two  collaborators  slip  between  the 
Mouse  and  the  stake,  when,  taking  a  grip  of  the  latter 
and  exerting  a  leverage  with  their  backs,  they  jerk  and 
shake  the  body,  which  oscillates,  twirls  about,  swings 
away  from  the  stake  and  relapses.  All  the  morning  is 
passed  in  vain  attempts,  interrupted  by  explorations  on 
the  animal's  body. 

In  the  afternoon  the  cause  of  the  check  is  at  last  recog- 


92         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

nized ;  not  very  clearly,  for  in  the  first  place  the  two  ob- 
stinate riflers  of  the  gallows  attack  the  hind-legs  of  the 
Mouse,  a  little  below  the  ligature.  They  strip  them  bare, 
flay  them  and  cut  away  the  flesh  about  the  heel.  They 
have  reached  the  bone,  when  one  of  them  finds  the  raphia 
beneath  his  mandibles.  This,  to  him,  is  a  familiar  thing, 
representing  the  gramineous  fiber  so  frequent  in  the  case 
of  burial  in  grass-covered  soil.  Tenaciously  the  shears 
gnaw  at  the  bond ;  the  vegetable  fetter  is  severed  and  the 
Mouse  falls,  to  be  buried  a  little  later. 

If  it  were  isolated,  this  severance  of  the  suspending  tie 
would  be  a  magnificent  performance ;  but  considered  in 
connection  with  the  sum  of  the  Beetle's  customary  labors 
it  loses  all  far-reaching  significance.  Before  attacking 
the  ligature,  which  was  not  concealed  in  any  way,  the 
insect  exerted  itself  for  a  whole  morning  in  shaking  the 
body,  its  usual  method.  Finally,  finding  the  cord,  it  sev- 
ered it,  as  it  would  have  severed  a  ligament  of  couch- 
grass  encountered  underground. 

Under  the  conditions  devised  for  the  Beetle,  the  use  of 
the  shears  is  the  indispensable  complement  of  the  use 
of  the  shovel;  and  the  modicum  of  discernment  at  his 
disposal  is  enough  to  inform  him  when  the  blades  of 
his  shears  will  be  useful.  He  cuts  what  embarrasses 
him  with  no  more  exercise  of  reason  than  he  displays 
when  placing  the  corpse  underground.  So  little  does 
he  grasp  the  connection  between  cause  and  effect  that  he 
strives  to  break  the  bone  of  the  leg  before  gnawing  at 
the  bast  which  is  knotted  close  beside  him.  The  difficult 
task  is  attacked  before  the  extremely  simple. 


EXPERIMENTS 

The  stake  is  slanting;  the  Mole  touches  the  ground,  but  at  a  point 
two  inches  from  the  base  of  the  gibbet.  The  Burying-beetles  begin 
by  digging  to  no  purpose  under  the  body.  They  make  no  attempt 
to  overturn  the  stake.  In  this  experiment  they  obtain  the  Mole  at 
last  by  employing  the  usual  method,  that  is  by  gnawing  the  bond 


BURYING-BEETLES:    EXPERIMENTS      93 

Difficult,  yes,  but  not  impossible,  provided  that  the 
Mouse  be  young.  I  begin  again  with  a  ligature  of  iron 
wire,  on  which  the  shears  of  the  insect  can  obtain  no 
purchase,  and  a  tender  Mouselet,  half  the  size  of  an  adult. 
This  time  a  tibia  is  gnawed  through,  cut  in  two  by  the 
Beetle's  mandibles  near  the  spring  of  the  heel.  The  de- 
tached member  leaves  plenty  of  space  for  the  other,  which 
readily  slips  from  the  metallic  band;  and  the  little  body 
falls  to  the  ground. 

But,  if  the  bone  be  too  hard,  if  the  body  suspended  be 
that  of  a  Mole,  an  adult  Mouse,  or  a  Sparrow,  the  wire 
ligament  opposes  an  insurmountable  obstacle  to  the  at- 
tempts of  the  Necrophori,  who,  for  nearly  a  week,  work 
at  the  hanging  body,  partly  stripping  it  of  fur  or  feather 
and  disheveling  it  until  it  forms  a  lamentable  object,  and 
at  last  abandon  it,  when  dessication  sets  in.  A  last  re- 
source, however,  remains,  one  as  rational  as  infallible. 
It  is  to  overthrow  the  stake.  Of  course,  not  one  dreams 
of  doing  so. 

For  the  last  time  let  us  change  our  artifices.  The  top 
of  the  gibbet  consists  of  a  little  fork,  with  the  prongs 
widely  opened  and  measuring  barely  two-fifths  of  an  inch 
in  length.  With  a  thread  of  hemp,  less  easily  attacked 
than  a  strip  of  raphia,  I  bind  together,  a  little  above  the 
heels,  the  hind-legs  of  an  adult  Mouse ;  and  between  the 
legs  I  slip  one  of  the  prongs  of  the  fork.  To  make 
the  body  fall  it  is  enough  to  slide  it  a  little  way  upwards ; 
it  is  like  a  young  Rabbit  hanging  in  the  front  of  a  poul- 
terer's shop. 

Five  Necrophori  come  to   inspect  my  preparations. 


94         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

After  a  great  deal  of  futile  shaking,  the  tibiae  are  at- 
tacked. This,  it  seems,  is  the  method  usually  employed 
when  the  body  is  retained  by  one  of  its  limbs  in  some 
narrow  fork  of  a  low-growing  plant.  While  trying  to 
saw  through  the  bone  —  a  heavy  job  this  time  —  one  of 
the  workers  slips  between  the  shackled  limbs.  So  situ- 
ated, he  feels  against  his  back  the  furry  touch  of  the 
Mouse.  Nothing  more  is  needed  to  arouse  his  propen- 
sity to  thrust  with  his  back.  With  a  few  heaves  of  the 
lever  the  thing  is  done;  the  Mouse  rises  a  little,  slides 
over  the  supporting  peg  and  falls  to  the  ground. 

Is  this  manceuver  really  thought  out?  Has  the  insect 
indeed  perceived,  by  the  light  of  a  flash  of  reason,  that 
in  order  to  make  the  tit-bit  fall  it  was  necessary  to  un- 
hook it  by  sliding  it  along  the  peg?  Has  it  really  per- 
ceived the  mechanism  of  suspension  ?  I  know  some  per- 
sons —  indeed,  I  know  many  —  who,  in  the  presence  of 
this  magnificent  result,  would  be  satisfied  without  further 
investigation. 

More  difficult  to  convince,  I  modify  the  experiment 
before  drawing  a  conclusion.  I  suspect  that  the  Necro- 
phorus,  without  any  prevision  of  the  consequences  of  his 
action,  heaved  his  back  simply  because  he  felt  the  legs  of 
the  creature  above  him.  With  the  system  of  suspension 
adopted,  the  push  of  the  back,  employed  in  all  cases  of 
difficulty,  was  brought  to  bear  first  upon  the  point  of 
support;  and  the  fall  resulted  from  this  happy  coinci- 
dence. That  point,  which  has  to  be  slipped  along  the  peg 
in  order  to  unhook  the  object,  ought  really  to  be  situated 
at  a  short  distance  from  the  Mouse,  so  that  the  Necro- 


BURYING-BEETLES:     EXPERIMENTS      95 

phori  shall  no  longer  feel  her  directly  against  their  backs 
when  they  push. 

A  piece  of  wire  binds  together  now  the  tarsi  of  a  Spar- 
row, now  the  heels  of  a  Mouse  and  is  bent,  at  a  distance 
of  three-quarters  of  an  inch  or  so,  into  a  little  ring,  which 
slips  very  loosely  over  one  of  the  prongs  of  the  fork,  a 
short,  almost  horizontal  prong.  To  make  the  hanging 
body  fall,  the  slightest  thrust  upon  this  ring  is  sufficient ; 
and,  owing  to  its  projection  from  the  peg,  it  lends  itself 
excellently  to  the  insect's  methods.  In  short,  the  ar- 
rangement is  the  same  as  it  was  just  now,  with  this 
difference,  that  the  point  of  support  is  at  a  short  distance 
from  the  suspended  animal. 

My  trick,  simple  though  it  be,  is  fully  successful.  For 
a  long  time  the  body  is  repeatedly  shaken,  but  in  vain; 
the  tibiae  or  tarsi,  unduly  hard,  refuse  to  yield  to  the 
patient  saw.  Sparrows  and  Mice  grow  dry  and  shriv- 
eled, unused,  upon  the  gibbet.  Sooner  in  one  case,  later 
in  another,  my  Necrophori  abandon  the  insoluble  problem 
in  mechanics :  to  push,  ever  so  little,  the  movable  support 
and  so  to  unhook  the  coveted  carcass. 

Curious  reasoners,  in  faith !  If  they  had  had,  but  now, 
a  lucid  idea  of  the  mutual  relations  between  the  shackled 
limbs  and  the  suspending  peg;  if  they  had  made  the 
Mouse  fall  by  a  reasoned  manoeuver,  whence  comes  it 
that  the  present  artifice,  no  less  simple  than  the  first,  is 
to  them  an  insurmountable  obstacle  ?  For  days  and  days 
they  work  on  the  body,  examine  it  from  head  to  foot, 
without  becoming  aware  of  the  movable  support,  the 
cause  of  their  misadventure.  In  vain  do  I  prolong  my 


96         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

watch;  never  do  I  see  a  single  one  of  them  push  it  with 
his  foot  or  butt  it  with  his  head. 

Their  defeat  is  not  due  to  lack  of  strength.  Like  the 
Geotrupes,  they  are  vigorous  excavators.  Grasped  in  the 
closed  hand,  they  insinuate  themselves  through  the  inter- 
stices of  the  fingers  and  plow  up  your  skin  in  a  fashion 
to  make  you  very  quickly  loose  your  hold.  With  his 
head,  a  robust  plowshare,  the  Beetle  might  very  easily 
push  the  ring  off  its  short  support.  He  is  not  able  to  do 
so  because  he  does  not  think  of  it;  he  does  not  think 
of  it  because  he  is  devoid  of  the  faculty  attributed  to  him, 
in  order  to  support  its  thesis,  by  the  dangerous  prodigal- 
ity of  trans formism. 

Divine  reason,  sun  of  the  intellect,  what  a  clumsy  slap 
in  thy  august  countenance,  when  the  glorifiers  of  the 
animal  degrade  thee  with  such  dullness ! 

Let  us  now  examine  under  another  aspect  the  mental 
obscurity  of  the  Necrophori.  My  captives  are  not  so 
satisfied  with  their  sumptuous  lodging  that  they  do  not 
seek  to  escape,  especially  when  there  is  a  dearth  of  labor, 
that  sovereign  consoler  of  the  afflicted,  man  or  beast.  In- 
ternment within  the  wire  cover  palls  upon  them.  So, 
the  Mole  buried  and  all  in  order  in  the  cellar,  they  stray 
uneasily  over  the  wire-gauze  of  the  dome;  they  clamber 
up,  descend,  ascend  again  and  take  to  flight,  a  flight 
which  instantly  becomes  a  fall,  owing  to  collision  with  the 
wire  grating.  They  pick  themselves  up  and  begin  again. 
The  sky  is  superb ;  the  weather  is  hot,  calm  and  propitious 
for  those  in  search  of  the  Lizard  crushed  beside  the  foot- 
path. Perhaps  the  effluvia  of  the  gamy  tit-bit  have 


EXPERIMENTS 

With  a  ligament  of  raphia,  the  Mole  is  fixed  by  the  hind  feet  to 
a  twig  planted  vertically  in  the  soil.  The  head  and  shoulders 
touch  the  ground.  By  digging  under  these,  the  Necrophori  at  the 
same  time  uproot  the  gibbet,  which  eventually  falls,  dragged  over 
by  the  weight  of  its  burden 


BURYING-BEETLES:    EXPERIMENTS      97 

reached  them,  coming  from  afar,  imperceptible  to  any 
other  sense  than  that  of  the  Sexton-beetles.  So  my 
Necrophori  are  fain  to  go  their  ways. 

Can  they?  Nothing  would  be  easier  if  a  glimmer  of 
reason  were  to  aid  them.  Through  the  wire  network, 
over  which  they  have  so  often  strayed,  they  have  seen, 
outside,  the  free  soil,  the  promised  land  which  they  long 
to  reach.  A. hundred  times  if  once  they  have  dug  at  the 
foot  of  the  rampart.  There,  in  vertical  wells,  they  take 
up  their  station,  drowsing  whole  days  on  end  while  un- 
employed. If  I  give  them  a  fresh  Mole,  they  emerge 
from  their  retreat  by  the  entrance  corridor  and  come  to 
hide  themselves  beneath  the  belly  of  the  beast.  The 
burial  over,  they  return,  one  here,  one  there,  to  the  con- 
fines of  the  enclosure  and  disappear  beneath  the  soil. 

Well,  in  two  and  a  half  months  of  captivity,  despite 
long  stays  at  the  base  of  the  trellis,  at  a  depth  of  three- 
quarters  of  an  inch  beneath  the  surface,  it  is  rare  indeed 
for  a  Necrophorus  to  succeed  in  circumventing  the  ob- 
stacle, to  prolong  his  excavation  beneath  the  barrier,  to 
make  an  elbow  in  it  and  to  bring  it  out  on  the  other  side, 
a  trifling  task  for  these  vigorous  creatures.  Of  fourteen 
only  one  succeeded  in  escaping. 

A  chance  deliverance  and  not  premeditated;  for,  if  the 
happy  event  had  been  the  result  of  a  mental  combination, 
the  other  prisoners,  practically  his  equals  in  powers  of 
perception,  would  all,  from  first  to  last,  discover  by  ra- 
tional means  the  elbowed  path  leading  to  the  outer  world ; 
and  the  cage  would  promptly  be  deserted.  The  failure 
of  the  great  majority  proves  that  the  single  fugitive  was 


98         THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

simply  digging  at  random.  Circumstances  favored  him ; 
and  that  is  all.  Do  not  let  us  make  it  a  merit  that  he 
succeeded  where  all  the  others  failed. 

Let  us  also  beware  of  attributing  to  the  Necrophori  an 
understanding*  more  limited  than  is  usual  in  entomologi- 
cal psychology.  I  find  the  ineptness  of  the  undertaker 
in  all  the  insects  reared  under  the  wire  cover,  on  the  bed 
of  sand  into  which  the  rim  of  the  dome  sinks  a  little  way. 
With  very  rare  exceptions,  fortuitous  accidents,  no  insect 
has  thought  of  circumventing  the  barrier  by  way  of  the 
base;  none  has  succeeded  in  gaining  the  exterior  by 
means  of  a  slanting  tunnel,  not  even  though  it  were  a 
miner  by  profession,  as  are  the  Dung-beetles  par  excel- 
lence. Captives  under  the  wire  dome,  but  desirous  of 
escape,  Sacred  Beetles,  Geotrupes,  Copres,  Gymnopleuri, 
Sisyphi,  all  see  about  them  the  freedom  of  space,  the  joys 
of  the  open  sunlight;  and  not  one  thinks  of  going  round 
under  the  rampart,  a  front  which  would  present  no  diffi- 
culty to  their  pick-axes. 

Even  in  the  higher  ranks  of  animality,  examples  of 
similar  mental  obfuscation  are  not  lacking.  Audubon 
relates  how,  in  his  days,  the  wild  Turkeys  were  caught 
in  North  America. 

In  a  clearing  known  to  be  frequented  by  these  birds, 
a  great  cage  was  constructed  with  stakes  driven  into  the 
ground.  In  the  center  of  the  enclosure  opened  a  short 
tunnel,  which  dipped  under  the  palisade  and  returned 
to  the  surface  outside  the  cage  by  a  gentle  slope,  which 
was  open  to  the  sky.  The  central  opening,  large  enough 
to  give  a  bird  free  passage,  occupied  only  a  portion  of 


BURYING-BEETLES:     EXPERIMENTS       99 

the  enclosure,  leaving  around  it,  against  the  circle  of 
stakes,  a  wide  unbroken  zone.  A  few  handfuls  of  maize 
were  scattered  in  the  interior  of  the  trap,  as  well  as  round 
about  it,  and  in  particular  along  the  sloping  path,  which 
passed  under  a  sort  of  bridge  and  led  to  the  center  of 
the  contrivance.  In  short,  the  Turkey-trap  presented  an 
ever-open  door.  The  bird  found  it  in  order  to  enter,  but 
did  not  think  of  looking  for  it  in  order  to  return  by  it. 

According  to  the  famous  American  ornithologist,  the 
Turkeys,  lured  by  the  grains  of  maize,  descended  the  in- 
sidious slope,  entered  the  short  underground  passage  and 
beheld,  at  the  end  of  it,  plunder  and  the  light.  A  few 
steps  farther  and  the  gluttons  emerged,  one  by  one,  from 
beneath  the  bridge.  They  distributed  themselves  about 
the  enclosure.  The  maize  was  abundant;  and  the  Tur- 
keys' crops  grew  swollen. 

When  all  was  gathered,  the  band  wished  to  retreat,  but 
not  one  of  the  prisoners  paid  any  attention  to  the  central 
hole  by  which  he  had  arrived.  Gobbling  uneasily,  they 
passed  again  and  again  across  the  bridge  whose  arch  was 
yawning  beside  them ;  they  circled  round  against  the  pali- 
sade, treading  a  hundred  times  in  their  own  footprints ; 
they  thrust  their  necks,  with  their  crimson  wattles, 
through  the  bars ;  and  there,  with  beaks  in  the  open  air, 
they  remained  until  they  we're  exhausted. 

Remember,  inept  fowl,  the  occurrences  of  a  little  while 
ago;  think  of  the  tunnel  which  led  you  hither!  If  there 
be  in  that  poor  brain  of  yours  an  atom  of  capacity,  put 
two  ideas  together  and  remind  yourself  that  the  passage 
by  which  you  entered  is  there  and  open  for  your  escape ! 


ioo       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  The  light,  an  irresisti- 
ble attraction,  holds  you  subjugated  against  the  palisade; 
and  the  shadow  of  the  yawning  pit,  which  has  but  lately 
permitted  you  to  enter  and  will  quite  as  readily  permit  of 
your  exit,  leaves  you  indifferent.  To  recognize  the  use 
of  this  opening  you  would  have  to  reflect  a  little,  to 
evolve  the  past ;  but  this  tiny  retrospective  calculation  is  be- 
yond your  powers.  So  the  trapper,  returning  a  few  days 
later,  will  find  a  rich  booty,  the  entire  flock  imprisoned! 

Of  poor  intellectual  repute,  does  the  Turkey  deserve 
his  name  for  stupidity  ?  He  does  not  appear  to  be  more 
limited  than  another.  Audubon  depicts  him  as  endowed 
with  certain  useful  ruses,  in  particular  when  he  has  to 
baffle  the  attacks  of  his  nocturnal  enemy,  the  Virginian 
Owl.  As  for  his  actions  in  the  snare  with  the  under- 
ground passage,  any  other  bird,  impassioned  of  the  light, 
would  do  the  same. 

Under  rather  more  difficult  conditions,  the  Necro- 
phorus  repeats  the  ineptness  of  the  Turkey.  When  he 
wishes  to  return  to  the  open  daylight,  after  resting  in  a 
short  burrow  against  the  rim  of  the  wire  cover,  the  Bee- 
tle, seeing  a  little  light  filtering  down  through  the  loose 
soil,  reascends  by  the  path  of  entry,  incapable  of  telling 
himself  that  it  would  suffice  to  prolong  the  tunnel  as  far 
in  the  opposite  direction  for  him  to  reach  the  outer  world 
beyond  the  wall  and  gain  his  freedom.  Here  again  is 
one  in  whom  we  shall  seek  in  vain  for  any  indication  of 
reflection.  Like  the  rest,  in  spite  of  his  legendary  re- 
nown, he  has  no  guide  but  the  unconscious  promptings 
of  instinct. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   BLUEBOTTLE 

To  purge  the  earth  of  death's  impurities  and  cause  de- 
ceased animal  matter  to  be  once  more  numbered  among 
the  treasures  of  life  there  are  hosts  of  sausage-queens, 
including,  in  our  part  of  the  world,  the  Bluebottle  (Calli- 
phora  vomitaria,  Lin.)  and  the  Gray  Fleshfly  (Sar- 
cophaga  carnaria,  Lin. ) .  Every  one  knows  the  first,  the 
big,  dark-blue  Fly  who,  after  effecting  her  designs  in  the 
ill- watched  meat-safe,  settles  on  our  window-panes  and 
keeps  up  a  solemn  buzzing,  anxious  to  be  off  in  the  sun 
and  ripen  a  fresh  emission  of  germs.  How  does  she  lay 
her  eggs,  the  origin  of  the  loathsome  maggot  that  battens 
poisonously  on  our  provisions  whether  of  game  or  butch- 
er's meat?  What  are  her  stratagems  and  how  can  we 
foil  them?  This  is  what  I  purpose  to  investigate. 

The  Bluebottle  frequents  our  homes  during  autumn 
and  a  part  of  winter,  until  the  cold  becomes  severe;  but 
her  appearance  in  the  fields  dates  back  much  earlier.  On 
the  first  fine  day  in  February,  we  shall  see  her  warming 
herself,  chillily,  against  the  sunny  walls.  In  April,  I 
notice  her  in  considerable  numbers  on  the  laurustinus. 
It  is  here  that  she  seems  to  pair,  while  sipping  the  sugary 
exudations  of  the  small  white  flowers.  The  whole  of  the 
summer  season  is  spent  out  of  doors,  in  brief  flights  from 
one  refreshment-bar  to  the  next.  When  autumn  comes, 


102       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

with  its  game,  she  makes  her  way  into  our  houses  and 
remains  until  the  hard  frosts. 

This  suits  my  stay-at-home  habits  and  especially  my 
legs,  which  are  bending  under  the  weight  of  years.  I 
need  not  run  after  the  subjects  of  my  present  study ;  they 
call  on  me.  Besides,  I  have  vigilant  assistants.  The 
household  knows  of  my  plans.  One  and  all  bring  me,  in 
a  little  screw  of  paper,  the  noisy  visitor  just  captured 
against  the  panes. 

Thus  do  I  fill  my  vivarium,  which  consists  of  a  large, 
bell-shaped  cage  of  wire-gauze,  standing  in  an  earthen- 
ware pan  full  of  sand.  A  mug  containing  honey  is  the 
dining-room  of  the  establishment.  Here  the  captives 
come  to  recruit  themselves  in  their  hours  of  leisure.  To 
occupy  their  maternal  cares,  I  employ  small  birds  — 
Chaffinches,  Linnets,  Sparrows  —  brought  down,  in  the 
enclosure,  by  my  son's  gun. 

I  have  just  served  up  a  Linnet  shot  two  days  ago.  I 
next  place  in  the  cage  a  Bluebottle,  one  only,  to  avoid 
confusion.  Her  fat  belly  proclaims  the  advent  of  laying- 
time.  An  hour  later,  when  the  excitement  of  being  put 
in  prison  is  allayed,  my  captive  is  in  labor.  With  eager, 
jerky  steps,  she  explores  the  morsel  of  game,  goes  from 
the  head  to  the  tail,  returns  from  the  tail  to  the  head, 
repeats  the  action  several  times  and  at  last  settles  near 
an  eye,  a  dimmed  eye  sunk  into  its  socket. 

The  ovipositor  bends  at  a  right  angle  and  dives  into 
the  junction  of  the  beak,  straight  down  to  the  root. 
Then  the  eggs  are  emitted  for  nearly  half  an  hour.  The 
layer,  utterly  absorbed  in  her  serious  business,  remains 


THE  BLUEBOTTLE  103 

stationary  and  impassive  and  is  easily  observed  through 
my  lens.  A  movement  on  my  part  would  doubtless 
scare  her;  but  my  restful  presence  gives  her  no  anxiety. 
I  am  nothing  to  her. 

The  discharge  does  not  go  on  continuously  until  the 
ovaries  are  exhausted;  it  is  intermittent  and  performed 
in  so  many  packets.  Several  times  over,  the  Fly  leaves 
the  bird's  beak  and  comes  to  take  a  rest  upon  the  wire- 
gauze,  where  she  brushes  her  hind-legs  one  against  the 
other.  In  particular,  before  using  it  again,  she  cleans, 
smooths  and  polishes  her  laying-tool,  the  probe  that 
places  the  eggs.  Then,  feeling  her  womb  still  teeming, 
she  returns  to  the  same  spot  at  the  joint  of  the  beak. 
The  delivery  is  resumed,  to  cease  presently  and  then  be- 
gin anew.  A  couple  of  hours  are  thus  spent  in  alternate 
standing  near  the  eye  and  resting  on  the  wire-gauze. 

At  last  it  is  over.  The  Fly  does  not  go  back  to  the 
bird,  a  proof  that  her  ovaries  are  exhausted.  The  next 
day  she  is  dead.  The  eggs  are  dabbed  in  a  continuous 
layer,  at  the  entrance  to  the  throat,  at  the  root  of  the 
tongue,  on  the  membrane  of  the  palate.  Their  number 
appears  considerable;  the  whole  inside  of  the  gullet  is 
white  with  them.  I  fix  a  little  wooden  prop  between 
the  two  mandibles  of  the  beak,  to  keep  them  open  and 
enable  me  to  see  what  happens. 

I  learn  in  this  way  that  the  hatching  takes  place  in  a 
couple  of  days.  As  soon  as  they  are  born,  the  young 
vermin,  a  swarming  mass,  leave  the  place  where  they  are 
and  disappear  down  the  throat. 

The  beak  of  the  bird  invaded  was  closed  at  the  start, 


104       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

as  far  as  the  natural  contact  of  the  mandibles  allowed. 
There  remained  a  narrow  slit  at  the  base,  sufficient  at 
most  to  admit  the  passage  of  a  horse-hair.  It  was 
through  this  that  the  laying  was  performed.  Lengthen- 
ing her  ovipositor  like  a  telescope,  the  mother  inserted 
the  point  of  her  implement,  a  point  slightly  hardened 
with  a  horny  armor.  The  fineness  of  the  probe  equals 
the  fineness  of  the  aperture.  But,  if  the  beak  were  en- 
tirely closed,  where  would  the  eggs  be  laid  then? 

With  a  tied  thread  I  keep  the  two  mandibles  in  abso- 
lute contact ;  and  I  place  a  second  Bluebottle  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  Linnet,  whom  the  colonists  have  already 
entered  by  the  beak.  This  time  the  laying  takes  place 
on  one  of  the  eyes,  between  the  lid  and  the  eyeball.  At 
the  hatching,  which  again  occurs  a  couple  of  days  later, 
the  grubs  make  their  way  into  the  fleshy  depths  of  the 
socket.  The  eyes  and  the  beak,  therefore,  form  the  two 
chief  entrances  into  feathered  game. 

There  are  others ;  and  these  are  the  wounds.  I  cover 
the  Linnet's  head  with  a  paper  hood  which  will  prevent 
invasion  through  the  beak  and  eyes.  I  serve  it,  under 
the  wire-gauze  bell,  to  a  third  egg-layer.  The  bird  has 
been  struck  by  a  shot  in  the  breast,  but  the  sore  is  not 
bleeding:  no  outer  stain  marks  the  injured  spot.  More- 
over, I  am  careful  to  arrange  the  feathers,  to  smooth 
them  with  a  hair-pencil,  so  that  the  bird  looks  quite  smart 
and  has  every  appearance  of  being  untouched. 

The  Fly  is  soon  there.  She  inspects  the  Linnet  from 
end  to  end ;  with  her  front  tarsi  she  fumbles  at  the  breast 
and  belly.  It  is  a  sort  of  auscultation  by  sense  of  touch. 


THE  BLUEBOTTLE  105 

The  insect  becomes  aware  of  what  is  under  the  feathers 
by  the  manner  in  which  these  react.  If  scent  lends  its 
assistance,  it  can  only  be  very  slightly,  for  the  game 
is  not  yet  high.  The  wound  is  soon  found.  No  drop 
of  blood  is  near  it,  for  it  is  closed  by  a  plug  of  down 
rammed  into  it  by  the  shot.  The  Fly  takes  up  her  posi- 
tion without  separating  the  feathers  or  uncovering  the 
wound.  She  remains  here  for  two  hours  without  stir- 
ring, motionless,  with  her  abdomen  concealed  beneath 
the  plumage.  My  eager  curiosity  does  not  distract  her 
from  her  business  for  a  moment. 

When  she  has  finished,  I  take  her  place.  There  is 
nothing  either  on  the  skin  or  at  the  mouth  of  the  wound. 
I  have  to  withdraw  the  downy  plug  and  dig  to  some  depth 
before  discovering  the  eggs.  The  ovipositor  has  there- 
fore lengthened  its  extensible  tube  and  pushed  beyond 
the  feather  stopper  driven  in  by  the  lead.  The  eggs  are 
in  one  packet ;  they  number  about  three  hundred. 

When  the  beak  and  eyes  are  rendered  inaccessible, 
when  the  body,  moreover,  has  no  wounds,  the  laying 
still  takes  place,  but  this  time  in  a  hesitating  and  niggardly 
fashion.  I  pluck  the  bird  completely,  the  better  to  watch 
what  happens ;  also,  I  cover  the  head  with  a  paper  hood 
to  close  the  usual  means  of  access.  For  a  long  time,  with 
jerky  steps,  the  mother  explores  the  body  in  every  direc- 
tion; she  takes  her  stand  by  preference  on  the  head, 
which  she  sounds  by  tapping  on  it  with  her  front  tarsi. 
She  knows  that  the  openings  which  she  needs  are  there, 
under  the  paper;  but  she  also  knows  how  frail  are  her 
grubs,  how  powerless  to  pierce  their  way  through  the 


106       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

strange  obstacle  which  stops  her  as  well  and  interferes 
with  the  work  of  her  ovipositor.  The  cowl  inspires  her 
with  profound  distrust.  Despite  the  tempting  bait  of 
the  veiled  head,  not  an  egg  is  laid  on  the  wrapper,  slight 
though  it  may  be. 

Weary  of  vain  attempts  to  compass  this  obstacle,  the 
Fly  at  last  decides  in  favor  of  other  points,  but  not  on 
the  breast,  belly,  or  back,  where  the  hide  would  seem  too 
tough  and  the  light  too  intrusive.  She  needs  dark  hid- 
ing-places, corners  where  the  skin  is  very  delicate.  The 
spots  chosen  are  the  cavity  of  the  axilla,  corresponding 
with  our  arm-pit,  and  the  crease  where  the  thigh  joins 
the  belly.  Eggs  are  laid  in  both  places,  but  not  many, 
showing  that  the  groin  and  the  axilla  are  adopted  only 
reluctantly  and  for  lack  of  a  better  spot. 

With  an  unplucked  bird,  also  hooded,  the  same  ex- 
periment failed :  the  feathers  prevent  the  Fly  from  slip- 
ping into  those  deep  places.  Let  us  add,  in  conclusion, 
that,  on  a  skinned  bird,  or  simply  on  a  piece  of  butcher's 
meat,  the  laying  is  effected  on  any  part  whatever,  pro- 
vided that  it  be  dark.  The  gloomiest  corners  are  the 
favorite  ones. 

It  follows  from  all  this  that,  to  lay  her  eggs,  the  Blue- 
bottle picks  out  either  naked  wounds  or  else  the  mucous 
membranes  of  the  mouth  or  eyes,  which  are  not  protected 
by  a  skin  of  any  thickness.  She  also  needs  darkness. 

The  perfect  efficiency  of  the  paper  bag,  which  prevents 
the  inroads  of  the  worms  through  the  eye-sockets  or  the 
beak,  suggests  a  similar  experiment  with  the  whole  bird. 
It  is  a  matter  of  wrapping  the  body  in  a  sort  of  artificial 


THE  BLUEBOTTLE  107 

skin  which  will  be  as  discouraging  to  the  Fly  as  the 
natural  skin.  Linnets,  some  with  deep  wounds,  others 
almost  intact,  are  placed  one  by  one  in  paper  envelopes 
similar  to  those  in  which  the  nursery-gardener  keeps  his 
seeds,  envelopes  just  folded,  without  being  stuck.  The 
paper  is  quite  ordinary  and  of  middling  thickness.  Torn 
pieces  of  newspaper  serve  the  purpose. 

These  sheaths  with  the  corpses  inside  them  are  freely 
exposed  to  the  air,  on  the  table  in  rriy  study,  where  they 
are  visited,  according  to  the  time  of  day,  in  dense  shade 
and  in  bright  sunlight.  Attracted  by  the  effluvia  from 
the  dead  meat,  the  Bluebottles  haunt  my  laboratory,  the 
windows  of  which  are  always  open.  I  see  them  daily 
alighting  on  the  envelopes  and  very  busily  exploring 
them,  apprised  of  the  contents  by  the  gamy  smell.  Their 
incessant  coming  and  going  is  a  sign  of  intense  cupidity ; 
and  yet  none  of  them  decides  to  lay  on  the  bags.  They 
do  not  even  attempt  to  slide  their  ovipositor  through  the 
slits  of  the  folds.  The  favorable  season  passes  and  not 
an  egg  is  laid  on  the  tempting  wrappers.  All  the  mothers 
abstain,  judging  the  slender  obstacle  of  the  paper  to  be 
more  than  the  vermin  will  be  able  to  overcome. 

This  caution  on  the  Fly's  part  does  not  at  all  surprise 
me :  motherhood  everywhere  has  great  gleams  of  perspi- 
cacity. What  does  astonish  me  is  the  following  result. 
The  parcels  containing  the  Linnets  are  left  for  a  whole 
year  uncovered  on  the  table;  they  remain  there  for  a 
second  year  and  a  third.  I  inspect  the  contents  from  time 
to  time.  The  little  birds  are  intact,  with  unrumpled 
feathers,  free  from  smell,  dry  and  light,  like  mummies. 


io8       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

They   have   become   not   decomposed,   but  mummified. 

I  expected  to  see  them  putrefying,  running  into  sanies, 
like  corpses  left  to  rot  in  the  open  air.  On  the  contrary, 
the  birds  have  dried  and  hardened,  without  undergoing 
any  change.  What  did  they  want  for  their  putrefaction? 
Simply  the  intervention  of  the  Fly.  The  maggot,  there- 
fore, is  the  primary  cause  of  dissolution  after  death;  it 
is,  above  all,  the  putrefactive  chemist. 

A  conclusion  not  devoid  of  value  may  be  drawn  from 
my  paper  game-bags.  In  our  markets,  especially  in  those 
of  the  South,  the  game  is  hung  unprotected  from  the 
hooks  on  the  stalls.  Larks  strung  up  by  the  dozen  with 
a  wire  through  their  nostrils,  Thrushes,  Plovers,  Teal, 
Partridges,  Snipe,  in  short,  all  the  glories  of  the  spit 
which  the  autumn  migration  brings  us,  remain  for  days 
and  weeks  at  the  mercy  of  the  Flies.  The  buyer  allows 
himself  to  be  tempted  by  a  goodly  exterior;  he  makes  his 
purchase  and,  back  at  home,  just  when  the  bird  is  being 
prepared  for  roasting,  he  discovers  that  the  promised 
dainty  is  alive  with'  worms.  O  horror!  There  is 
nothing  for  it  but  to  throw  the  loathsome,  verminous 
thing  away. 

The  Bluebottle  is  the  culprit  here.  Everybody  knows 
it  and  nobody  thinks  seriously  of  shaking  off  her  tyranny: 
not  the  retailer,  nor  the  wholesale  dealer,  nor  the  killer 
of  the  game.  What  is  wanted  to  keep  the  maggots  out? 
Hardly  anything:  to  slip  each  bird  into  a  paper  sheath. 
If  this  precaution  were  taken  at  the  start,  before  the  Flies 
arrive,  any  game  would  be  safe  and  could  be  left  indefi- 


THE  BLUEBOTTLE  109 

nitely  to  attain  the  degree  of  ripeness  required  by  the 
epicure's  palate. 

Stuffed  with  olives  and  myrtleberries,  the  Corsican 
Blackbirds  are  exquisite  eating.  We  sometimes  receive 
them  at  Orange,  layers  of  them,  packed  in  baskets  through 
which  the  air  circulates  freely  and  each  contained  in  a 
paper  wrapper.  They  are  in  a  state  of  perfect  preserva- 
tion, complying  with  the  most  exacting  demands  of  the 
kitchen.  I  congratulate  the  nameless  shipper  who  con- 
ceived the  bright  idea  of  clothing  his  Blackbirds  in  paper. 
Will  his  example  find  imitators?  I  doubt  it. 

There  is,  of  course,  a  serious  objection  to  this  method 
of  preservation.  In  its  paper  shroud,  the  article  is  in- 
visible; it  is  not  enticing;  it  does  not  inform  the  passer-by 
of  its  nature  and  qualities.  There  is  one  resource  left 
which  would  leave  the  bird  uncovered :  simply  to  case  the 
head  in  a  paper  cap.  The  head  being  the  part  most  men- 
aced, because  of  the  mucous  membrane  of  the  throat  and 
eyes,  it  would  be  enough,  as  a  rule,  to  protect  the  head, 
in  order  to  keep  off  the  Flies  and  thwart  their  attempts. 

Let  us  continue  to  study  the  Bluebottle,  while  varying 
our  means  of  information.  A  tin,  about  four  inches 
deep,  contains  a  piece  of  butcher's  meat.  The  lid  is  not 
put  in  quite  straight  and  leaves  a  narrow  slit  at  one  point 
of  its  circumference,  allowing,  at  most,  of  the  passage  of 
a  fine  needle.  When  the  bait  begins  to  give  off  a  gamy 
scent,  the  mothers  come,  singly  or  in  numbers.  They 
are  attracted  by  the  odor  which,  transmitted  through  a 
thin  crevice,  hardly  reaches  my  nostrils. 


110       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

They  explore  the  metal  receptacle  for  some  time,  seek- 
ing an  entrance.  Finding  naught  that  enables  them  to 
reach  the  coveted  morsel,  they  decide  to  lay  their  eggs 
on  the  tin,  just  beside  the  aperture.  Sometimes,  when 
the  width  of  the  passage  allows  of  it,  they  insert  the 
ovipositor  into  the  tin  and  lay  the  eggs  inside,  on  the 
very  edge  of  the  slit.  Whether  outside  or  in,  the  eggs 
are  dabbed  down  in  a  fairly  regular  and  absolutely  white 
layer. 

We  have  seen  the  Bluebottle  refusing  to  lay  her  eggs 
on  the  paper  bag,  notwithstanding  the  carrion  fumes  of 
the  Linnet  enclosed ;  yet  now,  without  hesitation,  she  lays 
them  on  a  sheet  of  metal.  Can  the  nature  of  the  floor 
make  any  difference  to  her?  I  replace  the  tin  lid  by  a 
paper  cover  stretched  and  pasted  over  the  orifice.  With 
the  point  of  my  knife  I  make  a  narrow  slit  in  this  new 
lid.  That  is  quite  enough :  the  parent  accepts  the  paper. 

What  determined  her,  therefore,  is  not  simply  the 
smell,  which  can  easily  be  perceived  even  through  the  un- 
cut paper,  but,  above  all,  the  crevice,  which  will  provide 
an  entrance  for  the  vermin,  hatched  outside,  near  the 
narrow  passage.  The  maggots'  mother  has  her  own 
logic,  her  prudent  foresight.  She  knows  How  feeble  her 
wee  grubs  will  be,  how  powerless  to  cut  their  way  through 
an  obstacle  of  any  resistance;  and  so,  despite  the  tempta- 
tion of  the  smell,  she  refrains  from  laying,  so  long  as 
she  finds  no  entrance  through  which  the  new-born  worms 
can  slip  unaided. 

I  wanted  to  know  whether  the  color,  the  shininess,  the 
degree  of  hardness  and  other  qualities  of  the  obstacle 


THE  BLUEBOTTLE  ill 

would  influence  the  decision  of  a  mother  obliged  to  lay 
her  eggs  under  exceptional  conditions.  With  this  object 
in  view,  I  employed  small  jars,  each  baited  with  a  bit  of 
butcher's  meat.  The  respective  lids  were  made  of  dif- 
ferent-colored paper,  of  oil-skin,  or  of  some  of  that  tin- 
foil, with  its  gold  or  coppery  sheen,  which  is  used  for 
sealing  liqueur-bottles.  On  not  one  of  these  covers  did 
the  mothers  stop,  with  any  desire  to  deposit  their  eggs; 
but,  from  the  moment  that  the  knife  had  made  the  narrow 
slit,  all  the  lids  were,  sooner  or  later,  visited  and  all, 
sooner  or  later,  received  the  white  shower  somewhere 
near  the  gash.  The  look  of  the  obstacle,  therefore,  does 
not  count;  dull  or  brilliant,  drab  or  colored:  these  are 
details  of  no  importance;  the  thing  that  matters  is  that 
there  should  be  a  passage  to  allow  the  grubs  to  enter. 

Though  hatched  outside,  at  a  distance  from  the  coveted 
morsel,  the  new-born  worms  are  well  able  to  find  their 
refectory.  As  they  release  themselves  from  the  egg, 
without  hesitation,  so  accurate  is  their  scent,  they  slip 
beneath  the  edge  of  the  ill-joined  lid,  or  through  the  pass- 
age cut  by  the  knife.  Behold  them  entering  upon  their 
promised  land,  their  reeking  paradise. 

Eager  to  arrive,  do  they  drop  from  the  top  of  the  wall? 
Not  they!  Slowly  creeping,  they  make  their  way  down 
the  side  of  the  jar ;  they  use  their  fore-part,  ever  in  quest 
of  information,  as  a  crutch  and  grapnel  in  one.  They 
reach  the  meat  and  at  once  install  themselves  upon  it. 

Let  us  continue  our  investigation,  varying  the  condi- 
tions. A  large  test-tube,  measuring  nine  inches  high,  is 
baited  at  the  bottom  with  a  lump  of  butcher's  meat.  It 


112       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

is  closed  with  wire-gauze,  whose  meshes,  two  millimeters  1 
wide,  do  not  permit  of  the  Fly's  passage.  The  Blue- 
bottle comes  to  my  apparatus,  guided  by  scent  rather  than 
sight.  She  hastens  to  the  test-tube,  whose  contents  are 
veiled  under  an  opaque  cover,  with  the  same  alacrity  as  to 
the  open  tube.  The  invisible  attracts  her  quite  as  much 
as  the  visible. 

She  stays  awhile  on  the  lattice  of  the  mouth,  inspects 
it  attentively;  but,  whether  because  circumstances  failed 
to  serve  me,  or  because  the  wire  network  inspired  her 
with  distrust,  I  never  saw  her  dab  her  eggs  upon  it  for 
certain.  As  her  evidence  was  doubtful,  I  had  recourse 
to  the  Flesh-fly  (Sarcophaga  carnaria). 

This  Fly  is  less  finicking  in  her  preparations,  she  has 
more  faith  in  the  strength  of  her  worms,  which  are  born 
ready-formed  and  vigorous,  and  easily  shows  me  what 
I  wish  to  see.  She  explores  the  trellis-work,  chooses  a 
mesh  through  which  she  inserts  the  tip  of  her  abdomen, 
and,  undisturbed  by  my  presence,  emits,  one  after  the 
other,  a  certain  number  of  grubs,  about  ten  or  so.  True, 
her  visits  will  be  repeated,  increasing  the  family  at  a  rate 
of  which  I  am  ignorant. 

The  new-born  worms,  thanks  to  a  slight  viscidity, 
cling  for  a  moment  to  the  wire-gauze;  they  swarm, 
wriggle,  release  themselves  and  leap  into  the  chasm.  It 
is  a  nine-inch  drop  at  least.  When  this  is  done,  the 
mother  makes  off,  knowing  for  a  certainty  that  her  off- 
spring will  shift  for  themselves.  If  they  fall  on  the 

1 .078  inch. —  Translator's  Note. 


THE  BLUEBOTTLE  113 

meat,  well  and  good;  if  they  fall  elsewhere,  they  can 
reach  the  morsel  by  crawling. 

This  confidence  in  the  unknown  factor  of  the  precipice, 
with  no  indication  but  that  of  smell,  deserves  fuller  in- 
vestigation. From  what  height  will  the  Flesh-fly  dare  to 
let  her  children  drop?  I  top  the  test-tube  with  another 
tube,  the  width  of  the  neck  of  a  claret-bottle.  The 
mouth  is  closed  either  with  wire-gauze  or  with  a  paper 
cover  with  a  slight  cut  in  it.  Altogether,  the  apparatus 
measures  twenty-five  inches  in  height.  No  matter:  the 
fall  is  not  serious  for  the  lithe  backs  of  the  young  grubs; 
and,  in  a  few  days,  the  test-tube  is  filled  with  larvae,  in 
which  it  is  easy  to  recognize  the  Flesh-fly's  family  by 
the  fringed  coronet  that  opens  and  shuts  at  the  maggot's 
stern  like  the  petals  of  a  little  flower.  I  did  not  see 
the  mother  operating:  I  was  not  there  at  the  time;  but 
there  is  no  doubt  possible  of  her  coming,  nor  of  the  great 
dive  taken  by  the  family:  the  contents  of  the  test-tube 
furnish  me  with  a  duly  authenticated  certificate. 

I  admire  the  leap  and,  to  obtain  one  better  still,  I 
replace  the  tube  by  another,  so  that  the  apparatus  now 
stands  forty-six  inches  high.  The  column  is  erected  at 
a  spot  frequented  by  Flies,  in  a  dim  light.  Its  mouth, 
closed  with  a  wire-gauze  cover,  reaches  the  level  of  vari- 
ous other  appliances,  test-tubes,  and  jars,  which  are  al- 
ready stocked  or  awaiting  their  colony  of  vermin.  When 
the  position  is  well  known  to  the  Flies,  I  remove  the  other 
tubes  and  leave  the  column,  lest  the  visitors  should  turn 
aside  to  easier  ground. 


114       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

From  time  to  time  the  Bluebottle  and  the  Flesh-fly 
perch  on  the  trellis-work,  make  a  short  investigation  and 
then  decamp.  Throughout  the  summer  season,  for  three 
whole  months,  the  apparatus  remains  where  it  is,  without 
result:  never  a  worm.  What  is  the  reason?  Does  the 
stench  of  the  meat  not  spread,  coming  from  that  depth? 
Certainly  it  spreads :  it  is  unmistakable  to  my  dulled  nos- 
trils and  still  more  so  to  the  nostrils  of  my  children,  whom 
I  call  to  bear  witness.  Then  why  does  the  Flesh-fly,  who 
but  now  was  dropping  her  grubs  from  a  goodly  height, 
refuse  to  let  them  fall  from  the  top  of  the  column  twice 
as  high  ?  Does  she  fear  lest  her  worms  should  be  bruised 
by  an  excessive  drop?  There  is  nothing  about  her  to 
point  to  anxiety  aroused  by  the  length  of  the  shaft.  I 
never  see  her  explore  the  tube  or  take  its  size.  She 
stands  on  the  trellised  orifice ;  and  there  the  matter  ends. 
Can  she  be  apprised  of  the  depth  of  the  chasm  by  the  com- 
parative faintness  of  the  offensive  odors  that  arise  from 
it?  Can  the  sense  of  smell  measure  the  distance  and 
judge  whether  it  be  acceptable  or  not  ?  Perhaps. 

The  fact  remains  that,  despite  the  attraction  of  the 
scent,  the  Flesh-fly  does  not  expose  her  worms  to  dis- 
proportionate falls.  Can  she  know  beforehand  that, 
when  the  chrysalids  break,  her  winged  family,  knocking 
with  a  sudden  flight  against  the  sides  of  a  tall  chimney, 
will  be  unable  to  get  out?  This  foresight  would  be  in 
agreement  with  the  rules  which  order  maternal  instinct 
according  to  future  needs. 

But,  when  the  fall  does  not  exceed  a  certain  depth, 
the  budding  worms  of  the  Flesh-fly  are  dropped  without 


THE  BLUEBOTTLE  115 

a  qualm,  as  all  our  experiments  show.  This  principle 
has  a  practical  application  which  is  not  without  its  value 
in  matters  of  domestic  economy.  It  is  as  well  that  the 
wonders  of  entomology  should  sometimes  give  us  a  hint 
of  commonplace  utility. 

The  usual  meat-safe  is  a  sort  of  large  cage  with  a  top 
and  bottom  of  wood  and  four  wire-gauze  sides.  Hooks 
fixed  into  the  top  are  used  whereby  to  hang  pieces  which 
we  wish  to  protect  from  the  Flies.  Often,  so  as  to  em- 
ploy the  space  to  the  best  advantage,  these  pieces  are 
simply  laid  on  the  floor  of  the  cage.  With  these  ar- 
rangements, are  we  sure  of  warding  off  the  Fly  and  her 
vermin  ? 

Not  at  all.  We  may  protect  ourselves  against  the 
Bluebottle,  who  is  not  much  inclined  to  lay  her  eggs  at 
a  distance  from  the  meat ;  but  there  is  still  the  Flesh-fly, 
who  is  more  venturesome  and  goes  more  briskly  to  work 
and  who  will  slip  the  grubs  through  a  hole  in  the  meshes 
and  drop  them  inside  the  safe.  Agile  as  they  are  and 
well  able  to  crawl,  the  worms  will  easily  reach  anything 
on  the  floor ;  the  only  things  secure  from  their  attacks  will 
be  the  pieces  hanging  from  the  ceiling.  It  is  not  in  the 
nature  of  maggots  to  explore  the  heights,  especially  if  this 
implies  climbing  down  a  string  in  addition. 

People  also  use  wire-gauze  dish-covers.  The  trellised 
dome  protects  the  contents  even  less  than  does  the  meat- 
safe.  The  Flesh-fly  takes  no  heed  of  it.  She  can  drop 
her  worms  through  the  meshes  on  the  covered  joint. 

Then  what  are  we  to  do?  Nothing  could  be  simpler. 
We  need  only  wrap  the  birds  which  we  wish  to  preserve 


ii6       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

—  Thrushes,  Partridges,  Snipe  and  so  on  —  in  separate 
paper  envelopes;  and  the  same  with  our  beef  and  mutton. 
This  defensive  armor  alone  while  leaving  ample  room  for 
the  air  to  circulate,  makes  any  invasion  by  the  worms  im- 
possible, even  without  a  cover  or  a  meat-safe:  not  that 
paper  possesses  any  special  preservative  virtues,  but  solely 
because  it  forms  an  impenetrable  barrier.  The  Blue- 
bottle carefully  refrains  from  laying  her  eggs  upon  it  and 
the  Flesh-fly  from  bringing  forth  her  offspring,  both  of 
them  knowing  that  their  new-born  young  are  incapable  of 
piercing  the  obstacle. 

Paper  is  equally  successful  in  our  strife  against  the 
Moths,  those  plagues  of  our  furs  and  clothes.  To  keep 
away  these  wholesale  ravagers,  people  generally  use  cam- 
phor, naphthalene,  tobacco,  bunches  of  lavender,  and 
other  strong-scented  remedies.  Without  wishing  to  ma- 
lign those  preservatives,  we  are  bound  to  admit  that  the 
means  employed  are  none  too  effective.  The  smell  does 
very  little  to  prevent  the  havoc  of  the  Moths. 

I  would  therefore  advise  our  housewives,  instead  of  all 
this  chemist's  stuff,  to  use  newspapers  of  a  suitable  shape 
and  size.  Take  whatever  you  wish  to  protect  —  your 
furs,  your  flannel,  or  your  clothes  —  and  pack  each  article 
carefully  in  a  newspaper,  joining  the  edges  with  a  double 
fold,  well  pinned.  If  this  joining  is  properly  done,  the 
Moth  will  never  get  inside.  Since  my  advice  has  been 
taken  and  this  method  employed  in  my  household,  the 
old  damage  has  no  longer  been  repeated. 

To  return  to  the  Fly.  A  piece  of  meat  is  hidden  in  a 
jar  under  a  layer  of  fine,  dry  sand,  a  finger 's-breadth 


THE  BLUEBOTTLE  117 

thick.  The  jar  has  a  wide  mouth  and  is  left  quite  open. 
Let  whoso  come  that  will,  attracted  by  the  smell.  The 
Bluebottles  are  not  long  in  inspecting  what  I  have  pre- 
pared for  them :  they  enter  the  jar,  go  out  and  come  back 
again,  inquiring  into  the  invisible  thing  revealed  by  its 
fragrance.  A  diligent  watch  enables  me  to  see  them 
fussing  about,  exploring  the  sandy  expanse,  tapping  it 
with  their  feet,  sounding  it  with  their  proboscis.  I  leave 
the  visitors  undisturbed  for  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks. 
None  of  them  lays  any  eggs. 

This  is  a  repetition  of  what  the  paper  bag,  with  its 
dead  bird,  showed  me.  The  Flies  refuse  to  lay  on  the 
sand,  apparently  for  the  same  reasons.  The  paper  was 
considered  an  obstacle  which  the  frail  vermin  would  not 
be  able  to  overcome.  With  sand,  the  case  is  worse. 
Its  grittiness  would  hurt  the  new-born  weaklings,  its  dry- 
ness  would  absorb  the  moisture  indispensable  to  their 
movements.  Later,  when  preparing  for  the  metamor- 
phosis, when  their  strength  has  come  to  them,  the  grubs 
will  dig  the  earth  quite  well  and  be  able  to  descend ;  but, 
at  the  start,  that  would  be  very  dangerous  for  them. 
Knowing  these  difficulties,  the  mothers,  however  greatly 
tempted  by  the  smell,  abstain  from  breeding.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  after  long  waiting,  fearing  lest  some 
packets  of  eggs  may  have  escaped  my  attention,  I  inspect 
the  contents  of  the  jar  from  top  to  bottom.  Meat  and 
sand  contain  neither  larvae  nor  pupae :  the  whole  is  abso- 
lutely deserted. 

The  layer  of  sand  being  only  a  finger's-breadth  thick, 
this  experiment  requires  certain  precautions.  The  meat 


ii8       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

may  expand  a  little,  in  going  bad,  and  protrude  in  one 
or  two  places.  However  small  the  fleshy  eyots  that  show 
above  the  surface,  the  Flies  come  to  them  and  breed. 
Sometimes  also  the  juices  oozing  from  the  putrid  meat 
soak  a  small  extent  of  the  sandy  floor.  That  is  enough 
for  the  maggot's  first  establishment.  These  causes  of 
failure  are  avoided  with  a  layer  of  sand  about  an  inch 
thick.  Then  the  Bluebottle,  the  Flesh-fly,  and  other  Flies 
whose  grubs  batten  on  dead  bodies  are  kept  at  a  distance. 

In  the  hope  of  awakening  us  to  a  proper  sense  of  our 
insignificance,  pulpit  orators  sometimes  make  an  unfair 
use  of  the  grave  and  its  worms.  Let  us  put  no  faith 
in  their  doleful  rhetoric.  The  chemistry  of  man's  final 
dissolution  is  eloquent  enough  of  our  emptiness :  there  is 
no  need  to  add  imaginary  horrors.  The  worm  of  the 
sepulcher  is  an  invention  of  cantankerous  minds,  incapa- 
ble of  seeing  things  as  they  are.  Covered  by  but  a  few 
inches  of  earth,  the  dead  can  sleep  their  quiet  sleep:  no 
Fly  will  ever  come  to  take  advantage  of  them. 

At  the  surface  of  the  soil,  exposed  to  the  air,  the 
hideous  invasion  is  possible ;  aye,  it  is  the  invariable  rule. 
For  the  melting  down  and  remolding  of  matter,  man  is 
no  better,  corpse  for  corpse,  than  the  lowest  of  the  brutes. 
Then  the  Fly  exercises  her  rights  and  deals  with  us  as 
she  does  with  any  ordinary  animal  refuse.  Nature  treats 
us  with  magnificent  indifference  in  her  great  regenerating 
factory :  placed  in  her  crucibles,  animals  and  men,  beggars 
and  kings  are  one  and  all  alike.  There  you  have  true 
equality,  the  only  equality  in  this  world  of  ours :  equality 
in  the  presence  of  the  maggot. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   PINE   PROCESSIONARY 

DROVER  DINGDONG'S  Sheep  followed  the  Ram  which 
Panurge  had  maliciously  thrown  overboard  and  leapt 
nimbly  into  the  sea,  one  after  the  other,  "  for  you  know," 
says  Rabelais,  "  it  is  the  nature  of  the  sheep  always  to 
follow  the  first,  wheresoever  it  goes." 

The  Pine  Caterpillar  is  even  more  sheeplike,  not  from 
foolishness,  but  from  necessity:  where  the  first  goes  all 
the  others  go,  in  a  regular  string,  with  not  an  empty  space 
between  them. 

They  proceed  in  single  file,  in  a  continuous  row,  each 
touching  with  its  head  the  rear  of  the  one  in  front  of 
it.  The  complex  twists  and  turns  described  in  his 
vagaries  by  the  caterpillar  leading  the  van  are  scrupu- 
lously described  by  all  the  others.  No  Greek  theoria 
winding  its  way  to  the  Eleusinian  festivals  was  ever  more 
orderly.  Hence  the  name  of  Processionary  given  to  the 
gnawer  of  the  pine. 

His  character  is  complete  when  we  add  that  he  is  a 
rope-dancer  all  his  life  long:  he  walks  only  on  the  tight- 
rope, a  silken  rail  placed  in  position  as  he  advances. 
The  caterpillar  who  chances  to  be  at  the  head  of  the  pro- 
cession dribbles  his  thread  without  ceasing  and  fixes  it  on 
the  path  which  his  fickle  preferences  cause  him  to  take. 
The  thread  is  so  tiny  that  the  eye,  though  armed  with  a 
magnifying-glass,  suspects  it  rather  than  sees  it. 
119 


120       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

But  a  second  caterpillar  steps  on  the  slender  foot- 
board and  doubles  it  with  his  thread ;  a  third  trebles  it ; 
and  all  the  others,  however  many  there  be,  add  the  sticky 
spray  from  their  spinnerets,  so  much  so  that,  when  the 
procession  has  marched  by,  there  remains,  as  a  record  of 
its  passing,  a  narrow  white  ribbon  whose  dazzling  white- 
ness shimmers  in  the  sun.  Very  much  more  sumptuous 
than  ours,  their  system  of  road-making  consists  in  up- 
holstering with  silk  instead  of  macadamizing.  We 
sprinkle  our  roads  with  broken  stones  and  level  them  by 
the  pressure  of  a  heavy  steam-roller ;  they  lay  over  their 
paths  a  soft  satin  rail,  a  work  of  general  interest  to  which 
each  contributes  his  thread. 

What  is  the  use  of  all  this  luxury?  Could  they  not, 
like  other  caterpillars,  walk  about  without  these  costly 
preparations?  I  see  two  reasons  for  their  mode  of  pro- 
gression. It  is  night  when  the  Processionaries  sally  forth 
to  browse  upon  the  pine-leaves.  They  leave  their  nest, 
situated  at  the  top  of  a  bough,  in  profound  darkness; 
they  go  down  the  denuded  pole  till  they  come  to  the 
nearest  branch  that  has  not  yet  been  gnawed,  a  branch 
which  becomes  lower  and  lower  by  degrees  as  the  con- 
sumers finish  stripping  the  upper  stories;  they  climb  up 
this  untouched  branch  and  spread  over  the  green  needles. 

When  they  have  had  their  suppers  and  begin  to  feel 
the  keen  night  air,  the  next  thing  is  to  return  to  the 
shelter  of  the  house.  Measured  in  a  straight  line,  the 
distance  is  not  great,  hardly  an  arm's  length ;  but  it  can- 
not be  covered  in  this  way  on  foot.  The  caterpillars  have 
to  climb  down  from  one  crossing  to  the  next,  from  the 


THE  PINE  PROCESSIONARY          121 

needle  to  the  twig,  from  the  twig  to  the  branch,  from  the 
branch  to  the  bough  and  from  the  bough,  by  a  no  less 
angular  path,  to  go  back  home.  It  is  useless  to  rely 
upon  sight  as  a  guide  on  this  long  and  erratic  journey. 
The  Processionary,  it  is  true,  has  five  ocular  specks  on 
either  side  of  his  head,  but  they  are  so  infinitesimal,  so 
difficult  to  make  out  through  the  magnify  ing-glass,  that 
we  cannot  attribute  to  them  any  great  power  of  vision. 
Besides,  what  good  would  those  short-sighted  lenses  be 
in  the  absence  of  light,  in  black  darkness? 

It  is  equally  useless  to  think  of  the  sense  of  smell. 
Has  the  Processional  any  olfactory  powers  or  has  he 
not?  I  do  not  know.  Without  giving  a  positive  answer 
to  the  question,  I  can  at  least  declare  that  his  sense  of 
smell  is  exceedingly  dull  and  in  no  way  suited  to  help 
him  find  his  way.  This  is  proved,  in  my  experiments, 
by  a  number  of  hungry  caterpillars  that,  after  a  long 
fast,  pass  close  beside  a  pine-branch  without  betraying 
any  eagerness  or  showing  a  sign  of  stopping.  It  is  the 
sense  of  touch  that  tells  them  where  they  are.  So  long 
as  their  lips  do  not  chance  to  light  upon  the  pasture-land, 
not  one  of  them  settles  there,  though  he  be  ravenous. 
They  do  not  hasten  to  food  which  they  have  scented  from 
afar;  they  stop  at  a  branch  which  they  encounter  on  their 
way. 

Apart  from  sight  and  smell,  what  remains  to  guide 
them  in  returning  to  their  nest?  The  ribbon  spun  on 
the  road.  In  the  Cretan  labyrinth,  Theseus  would  have 
been  lost  but  for  the  clue  of  thread  with  which  Ariadne 
supplied  him.  The  spreading  maze  of  the  pine-needles 


122       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

is,  especially  at  night,  as  inextricable  a  labyrinth  as  that 
constructed  for  Minos.  The  Processionary  finds  his  way 
through  it,  without  the  possibility  of  a  mistake,  by  the  aid 
of  his  bit  of  silk.  At  the  time  for  going  home,  each 
easily  recovers  either  his  own  thread  or  one  or  other  of 
the  neighboring  threads,  spread  fanwise  by  the  diverging 
herd ;  one  by  one  the  scattered  tribe  line  up  on  the  com- 
mon ribbon,  which  started  from  the  nest;  and  the  sated 
caravan  finds  its  way  back  to  the  manor  with  absolute 
certainty. 

Longer  expeditions  are  made  in  the  daytime,  even  in 
winter,  if  the  weather  be  fine.  Our  caterpillars  then 
come  down  from  the  tree,  venture  on  the  ground,  march 
in  procession  for  a  distance  of  thirty  yards  or  so.  The 
object  of  these  sallies  is  not  to  look  for  food,  for 
the  native  pine-tree  is  far  from  being  exhausted:  the 
shorn  branches  hardly  count  amid  the  vast  leafage. 
Moreover,  the  caterpillars  observe  complete  abstinence 
till  nightfall.  The  trippers  have  no  other  object  than 
a  constitutional,  a  pilgrimage  to  the  outskirts  to  see  what 
these  are  like,  possibly  an  inspection  of  the  locality  where, 
later  on,  they  mean  to  bury  themselves  in  the  sand  for 
their  metamorphosis. 

It  goes  without  saying  that,  in  these  greater  evolu- 
tions, the  guiding  cord  is  not  neglected.  It  is  now  more 
necessary  than  ever.  All  contribute  to  it  from  the  pro- 
duce of  their  spinnerets,  as  is  the  invariable  rule  when- 
ever there  is  a  progression.  Not  one  takes  a  step  for- 
ward without  fixing  to  the  path  the  thread  from  his  lips. 

If  the  series  forming  the  procession  be  at  all  long,  the 


THE  PINE  PROCESSIONARY          123 

ribbon  is  dilated  sufficiently  to  make  it  easy  to  find; 
nevertheless,  on  the  homeward  journey,  it  is  not  picked 
up  without  some  hesitation.  For  observe  that  the  cater- 
pillars when  on  the  march  never  turn  completely;  to 
wheel  round  on  their  tight-rope  is  a  method  utterly  un- 
known to  them.  In  order  therefore  to  regain  the  road 
already  covered,  they  have  to  describe  a  zig-zag  whose 
windings  and  extent  are  determined  by  the  leader's 
fancy.  Hence  come  gropings  and  roamings  which  are 
sometimes  prolonged  to  the  point  of  causing  the  herd  to 
spend  the  night  out  of  doors.  It  is  not  a  serious  matter. 
They  collect  into  a  motionless  cluster.  To-morrow  the 
search  will  start  afresh  and  will  sooner  or  later  be  suc- 
cessful. Oftener  still  the  winding  curve  meets  the  guide- 
thread  at  the  first  attempt.  As  soon  as  the  first  cater- 
pillar has  the  rail  between  his  legs,  all  hesitation  ceases ; 
and  the  band  makes  for  the  nest  with  hurried  steps. 

The  use  of  this  silk-tapestried  roadway  is  evident  from 
a  second  point  of  view.  To  protect  himself  against  the 
severity  of  the  winter  which  he  has  to  face  when  work- 
ing, the  Pine  Caterpillar  weaves  himself  a  shelter  in 
which  he  spends  his  bad  hours,  his  days  of  enforced  idle- 
ness. Alone,  with  none  but  the  meager  resources  of  his 
silk-glands,  he  would  find  no  difficulty  in  protecting  him- 
self on  the  top  of  a  branch  buffeted  by  the  winds.  A 
substantial  dwelling,  proof  against  snow,  gales  and  icy 
fogs,  requires  the  cooperation  of  a  large  number.  Out 
of  the  individual's  piled-up  atoms,  the  community  obtains 
a  spacious  and  durable  establishment. 

The  enterprise  takes  a  long  time  to  complete.     Every 


124       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

evening,  when  the  weather  permits,  the  building  has  to 
be  strengthened  and  enlarged.  It  is  indispensable,  there- 
fore, that  the  corporation  of  workers  should  not  be  dis- 
solved while  the  stormy  season  continues  and  the  insects 
are  still  in  the  caterpillar  stage.  But,  without  special 
arrangements,  each  nocturnal  expedition  at  grazing-time 
would  be  a  cause  of  separation.  At  that  moment  of 
appetite  for  food  there  is  a  return  to  individualism.  The 
caterpillars  become  more  or  less  scattered,  settling  singly 
on  the  branches  around;  each  browses  his  pine-needle 
separately.  How  are  they  to  find  one  another  afterwards 
and  become  a  community  again? 

The  several  threads  left  on  the  road  make  this  easy. 
With  that  guide,  every  caterpillar,  however  far  he  may  be, 
comes  back  to  his  companions  without  ever  missing  the 
way.  They  come  hurrying  from  a  host  of  twigs,  from 
here,  from  there,  from  above,  from  below ;  and  soon  the 
scattered  legion  reforms  into  a  group.  The  silk  thread 
is  something  more  than  a  road-making  expedient:  it  is 
the  social  bond,  the  system  that  keeps  the  members  of 
the  brotherhood  indissolubly  united. 

At  the  head  of  every  procession,  long  or  short,  goes  a 
first  caterpillar  whom  I  will  call  the  leader  of  the  march 
or  file,  though  the  word  leader,  which  I  use  for  the  want 
of  a  better,  is  a  little  out  of  place  here.  Nothing,  in  fact, 
distinguishes  this  caterpillar  from  the  others:  it  just  de- 
pends upon  the  order  in  which  they  happen  to  line  up; 
and  mere  chance  brings  him  to  the  front.  Among  the 
Processionaries,  every  captain  is  an  officer  of  fortune. 
The  actual  leader  leads ;  presently  he  will  be  a  subaltern, 


THE  PINE  PROCESSIONARY          125 

if  the  line  should  break  up  in  consequence  of  some  ac- 
cident and  be  formed  anew  in  a  different  order. 

His  temporary  functions  give  him  an  attitude  of  his 
own.  While  the  others  follow  passively  in  a  close  file, 
he,  the  captain,  tosses  himself  about  and  with  an  abrupt 
movement  flings  the  front  of  his  body  hither  and  thither. 
As  he  marches  ahead  he  seems  to  be  seeking  his  way. 
Does  he  in  point  of  fact  explore  the  country?  Does  he 
choose  the  most  practicable  places?  Or  are  his  hesita- 
tions merely  the  result  of  the  absence  of  a  guiding  thread 
on  ground  that  has  not  yet  been  covered  ?  His  subordi- 
nates follow  very  placidly,  reassured  by  the  cord  which 
they  hold  between  their  legs;  he,  deprived  of  that  support, 
is  uneasy. 

Why  cannot  I  read  what  passes  under  his  black,  shiny 
skull,  so  like  a  drop  of  tar  to  look  at?  To  judge  by 
actions,  there  is  here  a  modicum  of  discernment  which 
is  able,  after  experimenting,  to  recognize  excessive  rough- 
nesses, over-slippery  surfaces,  dusty  places  that  offer  no 
resistance  and,  above  all,  the  threads  left  by  other  ex- 
cursionists. This  is  all  or  nearly  all  that  my  long  ac- 
quaintance with  the  Processionaries  has  taught  me  as  to 
their  mentality.  Poor  brains,  indeed;  poor  creatures, 
whose  commonwealth  has  its  safety  hanging  upon  a 
thread ! 

The  processions  vary  greatly  in  length.  The  finest 
that  I  have  seen  maneuvering  on  the  ground  measured 
twelve  or  thirteen  yards  and  numbered  about  three  hun- 
dred caterpillars,  drawn  up  with  absolute  precision  in  a 
wavy  line.  But,  if  there  were  only  two  in  a  row  the 


126       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

order  would  still  be  perfect :  the  second  touches  and  fol- 
lows the  first. 

By  February  I  have  processions  of  all  lengths  in  the 
greenhouse.  What  tricks  can  I  play  upon  them?  I  see 
only  two:  to  do  away  with  the  leader;  and  to  cut  the 
thread. 

The  suppression  of  the  leader  of  the  file  produces 
nothing  striking.  If  the  thing  is  done  without  creating 
a  disturbance,  the  procession  does  not  alter  its  ways  at 
all.  The  second  caterpillar,  promoted  to  captain,  knows 
the  duties  of  his  rank  off-hand :  he  selects  and  leads,  or 
rather  he  hesitates  and  gropes. 

The  breaking  of  the  silk  ribbon  is  not  very  important 
either.  I  remove  a  caterpillar  from  the  middle  of  the 
file.  With  my  scissors,  so  as  not  to  cause  a  commotion 
in  the  ranks,  I  cut  the  piece  of  ribbon  on  which  he  stood 
and  clear  away  every  thread  of  it.  As  a  result  of  this 
breach,  the  procession  acquires  two  marching  leaders, 
each  independent  of  the  other.  It  may  be  that  the  one 
in  the  rear  joins  the  file  ahead  of  him,  from  which  he 
is  separated  by  but  a  slender  interval ;  in  that  case,  things 
return  to  their  original  condition.  More  frequently,  the 
two  parts  do  not  become  reunited.  In  that  case,  we  have 
two  distinct  processions,  each  of  which  wanders  where  it 
pleases  and  diverges  from  the  other.  Nevertheless,  both 
will  be  able  to  return  to  the  nest  by  discovering  sooner 
or  later,  in  the  course  of  their  peregrinations,  the  ribbon 
on  the  other  side  of  the  break. 

These  two  experiments  are  only  moderately  interest- 
ing. I  have  thought  out  another,  one  more  fertile  in 


THE  PINE  PROCESSIONARY          127 

possibilities.  I  purpose  to  make  the  caterpillars  describe 
a  close  circuit,  after  the  ribbons  running  from  it  and 
liable  to  bring  about  a  change  of  direction  have  been 
destroyed.  The  locomotive  engine  pursues  its  invariable 
course  so  long  as  it  is  not  shunted  on  to  a  branch-line. 
If  the  Processionaries  find  the  silken  rail  always  clear  in 
front  of  them,  with  no  switches  anywhere,  will  they  con- 
tinue on  the  same  track,  will  they  persist  in  following 
a  road  that  never  comes  to  an  end?  What  we  have  to 
do  is  to  produce  this  circuit,  which  is  unknown  under 
ordinary  conditions,  by  artificial  means. 

The  first  idea  that  suggests  itself  is  to  seize  with  the 
forceps  the  silk  ribbon  at  the  back  of  the  train,  to  bend 
it  without  shaking  it  and  to  bring  the  end  of  it  ahead  of 
the  file.  If  the  caterpillar  marching  in  the  van  steps  upon 
it,  the  thing  is  done :  the  others  will  follow  him  faithfully. 
The  operation  is  very  simple  in  theory  but  most  difficult 
in  practice  and  produces  no  useful  results.  The  ribbon, 
which  is  extremely  slight,  breaks  under  the  weight  of  the 
grains  of  sand  that  stick  to  it  and  are  lifted  with  it.  If 
it  does  not  break,  the  caterpillars  at  the  back,  however 
delicately  we  may  go  to  work,  feel  a  disturbance  which 
makes  them  curl  up  or  even  let  go. 

There  is  a  yet  greater  difficulty :  the  leader  refuses  the 
ribbon  laid  before  him ;  the  cut  end  makes  him  distrust- 
ful. Failing  to  see  the  regular,  uninterrupted  road,  he 
slants  off  to  the  right  or  left,  he  escapes  at  a  tangent.  If 
I  try  to  interfere  and  to  bring  him  back  to  the  path  of 
my  choosing,  he  persists  in  his  refusal,  shrivels  up,  does 
not  budge ;  and  soon  the  whole  procession  is  in  confusion. 


128       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

We  will  not  insist :  the  method  is  a  poor  one,  very  waste- 
ful of  effort  for,  at  best,  a  problematical  success. 

We  ought  to  interfere  as  little  as  possible  and  obtain 
a  natural  closed  circuit.  Can  it  be  done?  Yes.  It 
lies  in  our  power,  without  the  least  meddling,  to  see  a 
procession  march  along  a  perfect  circular  track.  I  owe 
this  result,  which  is  eminently  deserving  of  our  attention, 
to  pure  chance. 

On  the  shelf  with  the  layer  of  sand  in  which  the  nests 
are  planted  stand  some  big  palm-vases  measuring  nearly 
a  yard  and  a  half  in  circumference  at  the  top.  The  cater- 
pillars often  scale  the  sides  and  climb  up  to  the  mold- 
ing which  forms  a  cornice  around  the  opening.  This 
place  suits  them  for  their  processions,  perhaps  because 
of  the  absolute  firmness  of  the  surface,  where  there  is 
no  fear  of  landslides,  as  on  the  loose,  sandy  soil  below ; 
and  also,  perhaps,  because  of  the  horizontal  position, 
which  is  favorable  to  repose  after  the  fatigue  of  the 
ascent.  It  provides  me  with  a  circular  track  all  ready- 
made.  I  have  nothing  to  do  but  wait  for  an  occasion 
propitious  to  my  plans.  This  occasion  is  not  long  in 
coming. 

On  the  30th  of  January,  1896,  a  little  before  twelve 
o'clock  in  the  day,  I  discover  a  numerous  troop  making 
their  way  up  and  gradually  reaching  the  popular  cornice. 
Slowly,  in  single  file,  the  caterpillars  climb  the  great 
vase,  mount  the  ledge  and  advance  in  regular  procession, 
while  others  are  constantly  arriving  and  continuing  the 
series.  I  wait  for  the  string  to  close  up,  that  is  to  say, 
for  the  leader,  who  keeps  following  the  circular  mold- 


THE  PINE  PROCESSIONARY          129 

ing,  to  return  to  the  point  from  which  he  started.  My 
object  is  achieved  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  The  closed 
circuit  is  realized  magnificently,  in  something  very  nearly 
approaching  a  circle. 

The  next  thing  is  to  get  rid  of  the  rest  of  the  ascend- 
ing column,  which  would  disturb  the  fine  order  of  the 
procession  by  an  excess  of  newcomers;  it  is  also  impor- 
tant that  we  should  do  away  with  all  the  silken  paths, 
both  new  and  old,  that  can  put  the  cornice  into  communi- 
cation with  the  ground.  With  a  thick  hair-pencil  I  sweep 
away  the  surplus  climbers;  with  a  big  brush,  one  that 
leaves  no  smell  behind  it — for  this  might  afterwards 
prove  confusing  —  I  carefully  rub  down  the  vase  and 
get  rid  of  every  thread  which  the  caterpillars  have  laid 
on  the  march.  When  these  preparations  are  finished,  a 
curious  sight  awaits  us. 

In  the  uninterrupted  circular  procession  there  is  no 
longer  a  leader.  Each  caterpillar  is  preceded  by  another 
on  whose  heels  he  follows  guided  by  the  silk  track,  the 
work  of  the  whole  party;  he  again  has  a  companion 
close  behind  him,  following  him  in  the  same  orderly 
way.  And  this  is  repeated  without  variation  throughout 
the  length  of  the  chain.  None  commands,  or  rather 
none  modifies  the  trail  according  to  his  fancy;  all  obey, 
trusting  in  the  guide  who  ought  normally  to  lead  the 
march  and  who  in  reality  has  been  abolished  by  my 
trickery. 

From  the  first  circuit  of  the  edge  of  the  tub  the  rail 
of  silk  has  been  laid  in  position  and  is  soon  turned  into 
a  narrow  ribbon  by  the  procession,  which  never  ceases 


130       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

dribbling  its  thread  as  it  goes.  The  rail  is  simply 
doubled  and  has  no  branches  anywhere,  for  my  brush 
has  destroyed  them  all.  What  will  the  caterpillars  do 
on  this  deceptive,  closed  path  ?  Will  they  walk  endlessly 
round  and  round  until  their  strength  finally  gives  out 
entirely? 

The  old  schoolmen  were  fond  of  quoting  Buridan's 
Ass,  that  famous  Donkey  who,  when  placed  between  two 
bundles  of  hay,  starved  to  death  because  he  was  unable 
to  decide  in  favor  of  either  by  breaking  the  equilibrium 
between  two  equal  but  opposite  attractions.  They  slan- 
dered the  worthy  animal.  The  Ass,  who  is  no  more 
foolish  than  any  one  else,  would  reply  to  the  logical  snare 
by  feasting  off  both  bundles.  Will  my  caterpillars  show 
a  little  of  their  mother  wit?  Will  they,  after  many  at- 
tempts, be  able  to  break  the  equilibrium  of  their  closed 
circuit,  which  keeps  them  on  a  road  without  a  turning? 
Will  they  make  up  their  minds  to  swerve  to  this  side  or 
that,  which  is  the  only  method  of  reaching  their  bundle 
of  hay,  the  green  branch  yonder,  quite  near,  not  two 
feet  off? 

I  thought  that  they  would  and  I  was  wrong.  I  said 
to  myself : 

"  The  procession  will  go  on  turning  for  some  time, 
for  an  hour,  two  hours,  perhaps;  then  the  caterpillars 
will  perceive  their  mistake.  They  will  abandon  the  de- 
ceptive road  and  make  their  descent  somewhere  or  other." 

That  they  should  remain  up  there,  hard  pressed  by 
hunger  and  the  lack  of  cover,  when  nothing  prevented 
them  from  going  away,  seemed  to  me  inconceivable  im- 


THE  PINE  PROCESSIONARY          131 

becility.  Facts,  however,  forced  me  to  accept  the  in- 
credible. Let  us  describe  them  in  detail. 

The  circular  procession  begins,  as  I  have  said,  on  the 
3Oth  of  January,  about  midday,  in  splendid  weather. 
The  caterpillars  march  at  an  even  pace,  each  touching 
the  stern  of  the  one  in  front  of  him.  The  unbroken 
chain  eliminates  the  leader  with  his  changes  of  direction; 
and  all  follow  mechanically,  as  faithful  to  their  circle  as 
are  the  hands  of  a  watch.  The  headless  file  has  no 
liberty  left,  no  will ;  it  has  become  mere  clockwork.  And 
this  continues  for  hours  and  hours.  My  success  goes 
far  beyond  my  wildest  suspicions.  I  stand  amazed  at  it, 
or  rather  I  am  stupefied. 

Meanwhile,  the  multiplied  circuits  change  the  original 
rail  into  a  superb  ribbon  a  twelfth  of  an  inch  broad.  I 
can  easily  see  it  glittering  on  the  red  ground  of  the  pot. 
The  day  is  drawing  to  a  close  and  no  alteration  has  yet 
taken  place  in  the  position  of  the  trail.  A  striking  proof 
confirms  this. 

The  trajectory  is  not  a  plane  curve,  but  one  which,  at 
a  certain  point,  deviates  and  goes  down  a  little  way  to 
the  lower  surface  of  the  cornice,  returning  to  the  top 
some  eight  inches  farther.  I  marked  these  two  points  of 
deviation  in  pencil  on  the  vase  at  the  outset.  Well,  all 
that  afternoon  and,  more  conclusive  still,  on  the  follow- 
ing days,  right  to  the  end  of  this  mad  dance,  I  see  the 
string  of  caterpillars  dip  under  the  ledge  at  the  first  point 
and  come  to  the  top  again  at  the  second.  Once  the  first 
thread  is  laid,  the  road  to  be  pursued  is  permanently 
established. 


132       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

If  the  road  does  not  vary,  the  speed  does.  I  measure 
nine  centimeters  l  a  minute  as  the  average  distance  cov- 
ered. But  there  are  more  or  less  lengthy  halts;  the 
pace  slackens  at  times,  especially  when  the  temperature 
falls.  At  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening  the  walk  is  little 
more  than  a  lazy  swaying  of  the  body.  I  foresee  an 
early  halt,  in  consequence  of  the  cold,  of  fatigue  and 
doubtless  also  of  hunger. 

Grazing-time  has  arrived.  The  caterpillars  have  come 
crowding  from  all  the  nests  in  the  greenhouse  to  browse 
upon  the  pine-branches  planted  by  myself  beside  the 
silken  purses.  Those  in  the  garden  do  the  same,  for 
the  temperature  is  mild.  The  others,  lined  up  along  the 
earthenware  cornice,  would  gladly  take  part  in  the  feast ; 
they  are  bound  to  have  an  appetite  after  a  ten  hours' 
walk.  The  branch  stands  green  and  tempting  not  a 
hand's-breadth  away.  To  reach  it  they  need  but  go 
down;  and  the  poor  wretches,  foolish  slaves  of  their 
ribbon  that  they  are,  cannot  make  up  their  minds  to  do 
so.  I  leave  the  famished  ones  at  half -past  ten,  persuaded 
that  they  will  take  counsel  with  their  pillow  and  that  on 
the  morrow  things  will  have  resumed  their  ordinary 
course. 

I  was  wrong  I  was  expecting  too  much  of  them 
when  I  accorded  them  that  faint  gleam  of  intelligence 
which  the  tribulations  of  a  distressful  stomach  ought,  one 
would  think,  to  have  aroused.  I  visit  them  at  dawn. 
They  are  lined  up  as  on  the  day  before,  but  motionless. 
When  the  air  grows  a  little  warmer,  they  shake  off  their 
1  tf/2  inches.—  Translator's  Note. 


THE  PINE  PROCESSIONARY          133 

torpor,  revive  and  start  walking  again.  The  circular 
procession  begins  anew,  like  that  which  I  have  already 
seen.  There  is  nothing  more  and  nothing  less  to  be 
noted  in  their  machine-like  obstinacy. 

This  time  it  is  a  bitter  night.  A  cold  snap  has  super- 
vened, was  indeed  foretold  in  the  evening  by  the  garden 
caterpillars,  who  refused  to  come  out  despite  appearances 
which  to  my  duller  senses  seemed  to  promise  a  continu- 
ation of  the  fine  weather.  At  daybreak  the  rosemary- 
walks  are  all  asparkle  with  rime  and  for  the  second  time 
this  year  there  is  a  sharp  frost.  The  large  pond  in  the 
garden  is  frozen  over.  What  can  the  caterpillars  in  the 
conservatory  be  doing?  Let  us  go  and  see. 

All  are  ensconced  in  their  nests,  except  the  stubborn 
processionists  on  the  edge  of  the  vase,  who,  deprived 
of  shelter  as  they  are,  seem  to  have  spent  a  very  bad 
night.  I  find  them  clustered  in  two  heaps,  without  any 
attempts  at  order.  They  have  suffered  less  from  the 
cold,  thus  huddled  together. 

'Tis  an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  any  good.  The 
severity  of  the  night  has  caused  the  ring  to  break  into 
two  segments  which  will,  perhaps,  afford  a  chance  of 
safety.  Each  group,  as  it  survives  and  resumes  its  walk, 
will  presently  be  headed  by  a  leader  who,  not  being 
obliged  to  follow  a  caterpillar  in  front  of  him,  will 
possess  some  liberty  of  movement  and  perhaps  be  able 
to  make  the  procession  swerve  to  one  side.  Remember 
that,  in  the  ordinary  processions,  the  caterpillar  walking 
ahead  acts  as  a  scout.  While  the  others,  if  nothing 
occurs  to  create  excitement,  keep  to  their  ranks,  he  at- 


134       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

tends  to  his  duties  as  a  leader  and  is  continually  turning 
his  head  to  this  side  and  that,  investigating,  seeking, 
groping,  making  his  choice.  And  things  happen  as  he 
decides:  the  band  follows  him  faithfully.  Remember 
also  that,  even  on  a  road  which  has  already  been  traveled 
and  beribboned,  the  guiding  caterpillar  continues  to  ex- 
plore. 

There  is  reason  to  believe  that  the  Processionaries 
who  have  lost  their  way  on  the  ledge  will  find  a  chance 
of  safety  here.  Let  us  watch  them.  On  recovering 
from  their  torpor,  the  two  groups  line  up  by  degrees  into 
two  distinct  files.  There  are  therefore  two  leaders,  free 
to  go  where  they  please,  independent  of  each  other. 
Will  they  succeed  in  leaving  the  enchanted  circle?  At 
the  sight  of  their  large  black  heads  swaying  anxiously 
from  side  to  side,  I  am  inclined  to  think  so  for  a  moment. 
But.  I  am  soon  undeceived.  As  the  ranks  fill  out,  the 
two  sections  of  the  chain  meet  and  the  circle  is  reconsti- 
tuted. The  momentary  leaders  once  more  become  simple 
subordinates ;  and  again  the  caterpillars  march  round  and 
round  all  day. 

For  the  second  time  in  succession,  the  night,  which 
is  very  calm  and  magnificently  starry,  brings  a  hard  frost. 
In  the  morning  the  Processionaries  on  the  tub,  the  only 
ones  who  have  camped  unsheltered,  are  gathered  into  a 
heap  which  largely  overflows  both  sides  of  the  fatal 
ribbon.  I  am  present  at  the  awakening  of  the  numbed 
ones.  The  first  to  take  the  road  is,  as  luck  will  have  it, 
outside  the  track.  Hesitatingly  he  ventures  into  un- 


THE  PINE  PROCESSIONARY          135 

known  ground.  He  reaches  the  top  of  the  rim  and  de- 
scends upon  the  other  side  of  the  earth  in  the  vase.  He 
is  followed  by  six  others,  no  more.  Perhaps  the  rest  of 
the  troop,  who  have  not  fully  recovered  from  their  noc- 
turnal torpor,  are  too  lazy  to  bestir  themselves. 

The  result  of  this  brief  delay  is  a  return  to  the  old 
track.  The  caterpillars  embark  on  the  silken  trail  and 
the  circular  march  is  resumed,  this  time  in  the  form  of 
a  ring  with  a  gap  in  it  There  is  no  attempt,  however, 
to  strike  a  new  course  on  the  part  of  the  guide  whom  this 
gap  has  placed  at  the  head.  A  chance  of  stepping  out- 
side the  magic  circle  has  presented  itself  at  last;  and  he 
does  not  know  how  to  avail  himself  of  it. 

As  for  the  caterpillars  who  have  made  their  way  to  the 
inside  of  the  vase,  their  lot  is  hardly  improved.  They 
climb  to  the  top  of  the  palm,  starving  and  seeking  for 
food.  Finding  nothing  to  eat  that  suits  them,  they  re- 
trace their  steps  by  following  the  thread  which  they  have 
left  on  the  way,  climb  the  ledge  of  the  pot,  strike  the 
procession  again  and,  without  further  anxiety,  slip  back 
into  the  ranks.  Once  more  the  ring  is  complete,  once 
more  the  circle  turns  and  turns. 

Then  when  will  the  deliverance  come?  There  is  a 
legend  that  tells  of  poor  souls  dragged  along  in  an  endless 
round  until  the  hellish  charm  is  broken  by  a  drop  of 
holy  water.  What  drop  will  good  fortune  sprinkle  on 
my  Processionaries  to  dissolve  their  circle  and  bring  them 
back  to  the  nest?  I  see  only  two  means  of  conjuring 
the  spell  and  obtaining  a  release  from  the  circuit  These 


136       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

two  means  are  two  painful  ordeals.  A  strange  linking 
of  cause  and  effect :  from  sorrow  and  wretchedness  good 
is  to  come. 

And,  first,  shriveling  as  the  result  of  cold,  the  cater- 
pillars gather  together  without  any  order,  heap  them- 
selves some  on  the  path,  some,  more  numerous  these, 
outside  it.  Among  the  latter  there  may  be,  sooner  or 
later,  some  revolutionary  who,  scorning  the  beaten  track, 
will  trace  out  a  new  road  and  lead  the  troop  back  home. 
We  have  just  seen  an  instance  of  it.  Seven  penetrated 
to  the  interior  of  the  vase  and  climbed  the  palm.  True, 
it  was  an  attempt  with  no  result  but  still  an  attempt. 
For  complete  success,  all  that  need  be  done  would  have 
been  to  take  the  opposite  slope.  An  even  chance  is  a 
great  thing.  Another  time  we  shall  be  more  successful. 

In  the  second  place,  the  exhaustion  due  to  fatigue  and 
hunger.  A  lame  one  stops,  unable  to  go  farther.  In 
front  of  the  defaulter  the  procession  still  continues  to 
wend  its  way  for  a  short  time.  The  ranks  close  up  and 
an  empty  space  appears.  On  coming  to  himself  and  re- 
suming the  march,  the  caterpillar  who  has  caused  the 
breach  becomes  a  leader,  having  nothing  before  him. 
The  least  desire  for  emancipation  is  all  that  he  wants  to 
make  him  launch  the  band  into  a  new  path  which  perhaps 
will  be  the  saving  path. 

In  short,  when  the  Processionaries'  train  is  in  difficul- 
ties, what  it  needs,  unlike  ours,  is  to  run  off  the  rails. 
The  side-tracking  is  left  to  the  caprice  of  a  leader  who 
alone  is  capable  of  turning  to  the  right  or  left;  and  this 
leader  is  absolutely  non-existent  so  long  as  the  ring  re- 


THE  PINE  PROCESSIONARY          137 

mains  unbroken.  Lastly,  the  breaking  of  the  circle,  the 
one  stroke  of  luck,  is  the  result  of  a  chaotic  halt,  caused 
principally  by  excess  of  fatigue  or  cold. 

The  liberating  accident,  especially  that  of  fatigue, 
occurs  fairly  often.  In  the  course  of  the  same  day,  the 
moving  circumference  is  cut  up  several  times  into  two  or 
three  sections ;  but  continuity  soon  returns  and  no  change 
takes  place.  Things  go  on  just  the  same.  The  bold  in- 
novator who  is  to  save  the  situation  has  not  yet  had  his 
inspiration. 

There  is  nothing  new  on  the  fourth  day,  after  an  icy 
night  like  the  previous  one;  nothing  to  tell  except  the 
following  detail.  Yesterday  I  did  not  remove  the  trace 
left  by  the  few  caterpillars  who  made  their  way  to  the 
inside  of  the  vase.  This  trace,  together  with  a  junction 
connecting  it  with  the  circular  road,  is  discovered  in  the 
course  of  the  morning.  Half  the  troop  takes  advantage 
of  it  to  visit  the  earth  in  the  pot  and  climb  the  palm ;  the 
other  half  remains  on  the  ledge  and  continues  to  walk 
along  the  old  rail.  In  the  afternoon  the  band  of  emi- 
grants rejoins  the  others,  the  circuit  is  completed  and 
things  return  to  their  original  condition. 

We  come  to  the  fifth  day.  The  night  frost  becomes 
more  intense,  without  however  as  yet  reaching  the  green- 
house. It  is  followed  by  bright  sunshine  in  a  calm  and 
limpid  sky.  As  soon  as  the  sun's  rays  have  warmed  the 
panes  a  little,  the  caterpillars,  lying  in  heaps,  wake  up 
and  resume  their  evolutions  on  the  ledge  of  the  vase. 
This  time  the  fine  tDrder  of  the  beginning  is  disturbed 
and  a  certain  disorder  becomes  manifest,  apparently  an 


138       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

omen  of  deliverance  near  at  hand.  The  scouting-path 
inside  the  vase,  which  was  upholstered  in  silk  yesterday 
and  the  day  before,  is  to-day  followed  to  its  origin  on 
the  rim  by  a  part  of  the  band  and  is  then  deserted  after 
a  short  stop.  The  other  caterpillars  follow  the  usual 
ribbon.  The  result  of  this  bifurcation  is  two  almost 
equal  files,  walking  along  the  ledge  in  the  same  direction, 
at  a  short  distance  from  each  other,  sometimes  meeting, 
separating  farther  on  in  every  case  with  some  lack  of 
order. 

Weariness  increases  the  confusion.  The  crippled,  who 
refuse  to  go  on,  are  many.  Breaches  increase ;  files  are 
split  up  into  sections  each  of  which  has  its  leader,  who 
pokes  the  front  of  his  body  this  way  and  that  to  explore 
the  ground.  Everything  seems  to  point  to  the  disinte- 
gration which  will  bring  safety.  My  hopes  are  once 
more  disappointed.  Before  the  night  the  single  file  is 
reconstituted  and  the  invincible  gyration  resumed. 

Heat  comes,  just  as  suddenly  as  the  cold  did.  To-day, 
the  4th  of  February,  is  a  beautiful,  mild  day.  The 
greenhouse  is  full  of  life.  Numerous  festoons  of  cater- 
pillars, issuing  from  the  nests,  meander  along  the  sand 
on  the  shelf.  Above  them,  at  every  moment,  the  ring 
on  the  ledge  of  the  vase  breaks  up  and  comes  together 
again.  For  the  first  time  I  see  daring  leaders  who,  drunk 
with  heat,  standing  only  on  their  hinder  prolegs  at  the 
extreme  edge  of  the  earthenware  rim,  fling  themselves 
forward  into  space,  twisting  about,  sounding  the  depths. 
The  endeavor  is  frequently  repeated,  while  the  whole 


THE  PINE  PROCESSION ARY          139 

troop  stops.     The  caterpillars'  heads  give  sudden  jerks, 
their  bodies  wriggle. 

One  of  the  pioneers  decides  to  take  the  plunge.  He 
slips  under  the  ledge.  Four  follow  him.  The  others, 
still  confiding  in  the  perfidious  silken  path,  dare  not  copy 
him  and  continue  to  go  along  the  old  road. 

The  short  string  detached  from  the  general  chain 
gropes  about  a  great  deal,  hesitates  long  on  the  side  of 
the  vase;  it  goes  half-way  down,  then  climbs  up  again 
slantwise,  rejoins  and  takes  its  place  in  the  procession. 
This  time  the  attempt  has  failed,  though  at  the  foot  of 
the  vase,  not  nine  inches  away,  there  lay  a  bunch  of 
pine-needles  which  I  had  placed  there  with  the  object  of 
enticing  the  hungry  ones.  Smell  and  sight  told  them 
nothing.  Near  as  they  were  to  the  goal,  they  went  up 
again. 

No  matter,  the  endeavor  has  its  uses.  Threads  were 
laid  on  the  way  and  will  serve  as  a  lure  to  further 
enterprise.  The  road  of  deliverance  has  its  first  land- 
marks. And,  two  days  later,  on  the  eighth  day  of  the 
experiment,  the  caterpillars  —  now  singly,  anon  in  small 
groups,  then  again  in  strings  of  some  length  —  come 
down  from  the  ledge  by  following  the  staked-out  path. 
At  sunset  the  last  of  the  laggards  is  back  in  the  nest. 

Now  for  a  little  arithmetic.  For  seven  times  twenty- 
four  hours  the  caterpillars  have  remained  on  the  ledge 
of  the  vase.  To  make  an  ample  allowance  for  stops  due 
to  the  weariness  of  this  one  or  that  and  above  all  for  the 
rest  taken  during  the  colder  hours  of  the  night  we  will 


140       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

deduct  one-half  of  the  time.  This  leaves  eighty- four 
hours'  walking.  The  average  pace  is  nine  centimeters  1 
a  minute.  The  aggregate  distance  covered,  therefore,  is 
453  meters,  a  good  deal  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile, 
which  is  a  great  walk  for  these  little  crawlers.  The 
circumference  of  the  vase,  the  perimeter  of  the  track, 
is  exactly  I  m.  35.2  Therefore  the  circle  covered,  al- 
ways in  the  same  direction  and  always  without  result, 
was  described  three  hundred  and  thirty-five  times. 

These  figures  surprise  me,  though  I  am  already  fa- 
miliar with  the  abysmal  stupidity  of  insects  as  a  class 
whenever  the  least  accident  occurs.  I  feel  inclined  to 
ask  myself  whether  the  Processionaries  were  not  kept  up 
there  so  long  by  the  difficulties  and  dangers  of  the  de- 
scent rather  than  by  the  lack  of  any  gleam  of  intelligence 
in  their  benighted  minds.  The  facts,  however,  reply  that 
the  descent  is  as  easy  as  the  ascent. 

The  caterpillar  has  a  very  supple  back,  well  adapted 
for  twisting  round  projections  or  slipping  underneath. 
He  can  walk  with  the  same  ease  vertically  or  horizontally, 
with  his  back  down  or  up.  Besides,  he  never  moves  for- 
ward until  he  has  fixed  his  thread  to  the  ground.  With 
this  support  to  his  feet,  he  has  no  falls  to  fear,  no  mat- 
ter what  his  position. 

I  had  a  proof  of  this  before  my  eyes  during  a  whole 
week.  As  I  have  already  said,  the  track,  instead  of  keep- 
ing on  one  level,  bends  twice,  dips  at  a  certain  point 
under  the  ledge  of  the  vase  and  reappears  at  the  top  a 

»  tf/2  inches.—  Translator's  Note. 
2  4  feet  5  inches.—  Translator's  Note. 


THE  PINE  PROCESSIONARY          141 

little  farther  on.  At  one  part  of  the  circuit,  therefore, 
the  procession  walks  on  the  lower  surface  of  the  rim; 
and  this  inverted  position  implies  so  little  discomfort  or 
danger  that  it  is  renewed  at  each  turn  for  all  the  cater- 
pillars from  first  to  last. 

It  is  out  of  the  question  then  to  suggest  the  dread  of 
a  false  step  on  the  edge  of  the  rim  which  is  so  nimbly 
turned  at  each  point  of  inflexion.  The  caterpillars  in 
distress,  starved,  shelterless,  chilled  with  cold  at  night, 
cling  obstinately  to  the  silk  ribbon  covered  hundreds  of 
times  because  they  lack  the  rudimentary  glimmers  of 
reason  which  would  advise  them  to  abandon  it. 

Experience  and  reflection  are  not  in  their  province. 
The  ordeal  of  a  five  hundred  yards'  march  and  three  to 
four  hundred  turns  teach  them  nothing;  and  it  takes 
casual  circumstances  to  bring  them  back  to  the  nest. 
They  would  perish  on  their  insidious  ribbon  if  the  dis- 
order of  the  nocturnal  encampments  and  the  halts  due 
to  fatigue  did  not  cast  a  few  threads  outside  the  circular 
path.  Some  three  or  four  move  along  these  trails,  laid 
without  an  object,  stray  a  little  way  and,  thanks  to  their 
wanderings,  prepare  the  descent,  which  is  at  last  accom- 
plished in  short  strings  favored  by  chance. 

The  school  most  highly  honored  to-day  is  very  anxious 
to  find  the  origin  of  reason  in  the  dregs  of  the  animal 
kingdom.  Let  me  call  its  attention  to  the  Pine  Proces- 
sionary. 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE  SPIDERS 

THE  NARBONNE  LYCOSA,  OR  BLACK-BELLIED 
TARANTULA 

The  Burrow 

MICHELET  J  has  told  us  how,  as  a  printer's  apprentice 
in  a  cellar,  he  established  amicable  relations  with  a  Spider. 
At  a  certain  hour  of  the  day,  a  ray  of  sunlight  would 
glint  through  the  window  of  the  gloomy  workshop  and 
light  up  the  little  compositor's  case.  Then  his  eight- 
legged  neighbor  would  come  from  her  web  and  on  the 
edge  of  the  case  take  her  share  of  the  sunshine.  The 
boy  did  not  interfere  with  her;  he  welcomed  the  trust- 
ing visitor  as  a  friend  and  as  a  pleasant  diversion  from 
the  long  monotony.  When  we  lack  the  society  of  our 
fellowmen,  we  take  refuge  in  that  of  animals,  without 
always  losing  by  the  change. 

I  do  not,  thank  God,  suffer  from  the  melancholy  of  a 
cellar:  my  solitude  is  gay  with  light  and  verdure;  I  at- 
tend, whenever  I  please,  the  fields'  high  festival,  the 
Thrushes'  concert,  the  Crickets'  symphony;  and  yet  my 
friendly  commerce  with  the  Spider  is  marked  by  an  even 

1  Jules  Michelet  (1798-1874),  author  of  L'Oiseau  and  L'Insecte, 
in  addition  to  the  historical  works  for  which  he  is  chiefly  known. 
As  a  lad,  he  helped  his  father,  a  printer  by  trade,  in  setting  type.— 
Translator's  Note. 

142 


THE  SPIDERS  143 

greater  devotion  than  the  young  type-setter's.  I  admit 
her  to  the  intimacy  of  my  study,  I  make  room  for  her 
among  my  books,  I  set  her  in  the  sun  on  my  window- 
ledge,  I  visit  her  assiduously  at  her  home,  in  the  country. 
The  object  of  our  relations  is  not  to  create  a  means  of 
escape  from  the  petty  worries  of  life,  pin-pricks  whereof 
I  have  my  share  like  other  men,  a  very  large  share,  in- 
deed ;  I  propose  to  submit  to  the  Spider  a  host  of  ques- 
tions whereto,  at  times,  she  condescends  to  reply. 

To  what  fair  problems  does  not  the  habit  of  frequent- 
ing her  give  rise !  To  set  them  forth  worthily,  the  mar- 
velous art  which  the  little  printer  was  to  acquire  were 
not  too  much.  One  needs  the  pen  of  a  Michelet;  and  I 
have  but  a  rough,  blunt  pencil.  Let  us  try,  nevertheless, 
even  when  poorly  clad,  truth  is  still  beautiful. 

The  most  robust  Spider  in  my  district  is  the  Narbonne 
Lycosa,  or  Black-bellied  Tarantula,  clad  in  black  velvet 
on  the  lower  surface,  especially  under  the  belly,  with 
brown  chevrons  on  the  abdomen  and  gray  and  white 
rings  around  the  legs.  Her  favorite  home  is  the  dry, 
pebbly  ground,  covered  with  sun-scorched  thyme.  In 
my  harmas  laboratory  there  are  quite  twenty  of  this 
Spider's  burrows.  Rarely  do  I  pass  by  one  of  these 
haunts  without  giving  a  glance  down  the  pit  where  gleam, 
like  diamonds,  the  four  great  eyes,  the  four  telescopes, 
of  the  hermit.  The  four  others,  which  are  much  smaller, 
are  not  visible  at  that  depth. 

Would  I  have  greater  riches,  I  have  but  to  walk  a 
hundred  yards  from  my  house,  on  the  neighboring  pla- 
teau, once  a  shady  forest,  to-day  a  dreary  solitude  where 


144       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

the  Cricket  browses  and  the  Wheat-ear  flits  from  stone 
to  stone.  The  love  of  lucre  has  laid  waste  the  land. 
Because  wine  paid  handsomely,  they  pulled  up  the  forest 
to  plant  the  vine.  Then  came  the  Phylloxera,  the  vine- 
stocks  perished  and  the  once  green  table-land  is  now  no 
more  than  a  desolate  stretch  where  a  few  tufts  of  hardy 
grasses  sprout  among  the  pebbles.  This  waste-land  is 
the  Lycosa's  paradise:  in  an  hour's  time,  if  need  were, 
I  should  discover  a  hundred  burrows  within  a  limited 
range. 

These  dwellings  are  pits  about  a  foot  deep,  perpen- 
dicular at  first  and  then  bent  elbow-wise.  The  average 
diameter  is  an  inch.  On  the  edge  of  the  hole  stands  a 
kerb,  formed  of  straw,  bits  and  scraps  of  all  sorts  and 
even  small  pebbles,  the  size  of  a  hazel-nut.  The  whole 
is  kept  in  place  and  cemented  with  silk.  Often,  the 
Spider  confines  herself  to  drawing  together  the  dry  blades 
of  the  nearest  grass,  which  she  ties  down  with  the  straps 
from  her  spinnerets,  without  removing  the  blades  from 
the  stem;  often,  also,  she  rejects  this  scaffolding  in 
favor  of  a  masonry  constructed  of  small  stones.  The 
nature  of  the  kerb  is  decided  by  the  nature  of  the  mate- 
rials within  the  Lycosa's  reach,  in  the  close  neighborhood 
of  the  building-yard.  There  is  no  selection:  everything 
meets  with  approval,  provided  that  it  be  near  at  hand. 

The  direction  is  perpendicular,  in  so  far  as  obstacles, 
frequent  in  a  soil  of  this  kind,  permit.  A  bit  of  gravel 
can  be  extracted  and  hoisted  outside;  but  a  flint  is  an 
immovable  boulder  which  the  Spider  avoids  by  giving  a 
bend  to  her  gallery.  If  more  such  are  met  with,  the 


THE  SPIDERS  145 

residence  becomes  a  winding  cave,  with  stone  vaults,  with 
lobbies  communicating  by  means  of  sharp  passages. 

This  lack  of  plan  has  no  attendant  drawbacks,  so  well 
does  the  owner,  from  long  habit,  know  every  corner  and 
story  of  her  mansion.  If  any  interesting  buzz  occur 
overhead,  the  Lycosa  climbs  up  from  her  rugged  manor 
with  the  same  speed  as  from  a  vertical  shaft.  Perhaps 
she  even  finds  the  windings  and  turnings  an  advantage, 
when  she  has  to  drag  into  her  den  a  prey  that  happens 
to  defend  itself. 

As  a  rule,  the  end  of  the  burrow  widens  into  a  side- 
chamber,  a  lounge  or  resting-place  where  the  Spider 
meditates  at  length  and  is  content  to  lead  a  life  of  quiet 
when  her  belly  is  full. 

When  she  reaches  maturity  and  is  once  settled,  the 
Lycosa  becomes  eminently  domesticated.  I  have  been 
living  in  close  communion  with  her  for  the  last  three 
years.  I  have  installed  her  in  large  earthen  pans  on  the 
window-sills  of  my  study  and  I  have  her  daily  under  my 
eyes.  Well,  it  is  very  rarely  that  I  happen  on  her  out- 
side, a  few  inches  from  her  hole,  back  to  which  she  bolts 
at  the  least  alarm. 

We  may  take  it  then  that,  when  not  in  captivity,  the 
Lycosa  does  not  go  far  afield  to  gather  the  wherewithal 
to  build  her  parapet  and  that  she  makes  shift  with  what 
she  finds  upon  her  threshold.  In  these  conditions,  the 
building-stones  are  soon  exhausted  and  the  masonry 
.ceases  for  lack  of  materials. 

The  wish  came  over  me  to  see  what  dimensions  the 
circular  edifice  would  assume,  if  the  Spider  were  given 


146       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

an  unlimited  supply.  With  captives  to  whom  I  myself 
act  as  purveyor  the  thing  is  easy  enough.  Were  it  only 
with  a  view  to  helping  whoso  may  one  day  care  to  con- 
tinue these  relations  with  the  big  Spider  of  the  waste- 
lands, let  me  describe  how  my  subjects  are  housed. 

A  good-sized  earthenware  pan,  some  nine  inches  deep, 
is  filled  with  a  red,  clayey  earth,  rich  in  pebbles,  similar, 
in  short,  to  that  of  the  places  haunted  by  the  Lycosa. 
Properly  moistened  into  a  paste,  the  artificial  soil  is 
heaped,  layer  by  layer,  around  a  central  reed,  of  a  bore 
equal  to  that  of  the  animal's  natural  burrow.  When  the 
receptacle  is  filled  to  the  top,  I  withdraw  the  reed,  which 
leaves  a  yawning,  perpendicular  shaft.  I  thus  obtain  the 
abode  which  shall  replace  that  of  the  fields. 

To  find  the  hermit  to  inhabit  it  is  merely  the  matter 
of  a  walk  in  the  neighborhood.  When  removed  from 
her  own  dwelling,  which  is  turned  topsy-turvy  by  my 
trowel,  and  placed  in  possession  of  the  den  produced  by 
my  art,  the  Lycosa  at  once  disappears  into  that  den.  She 
does  not  come  out  again,  seeks  nothing  better  elsewhere. 
A  large  wire-gauze  cover  rests  on  the  soil  in  the  pan  and 
prevents  escape. 

In  any  case,  the  watch,  in  this  respect,  makes  no  de- 
mand upon  my  diligence.  The  prisoner  is  satisfied  with 
her  new  abode  and  manifests  no  regret  for  her  natural 
burrow.  There  is  no  attempt  at  flight  on  her  part.  Let 
me  not  omit  to  add  that  each  pan  must  receive  not  more 
than  one  inhabitant.  The  Lycosa  is  very  intolerant. 
To  her  a  neighbor  is  fair  game,  to  be  eaten  without 
scruple  when  one  has  might  on  one's  side.  Time  was 


THE  SPIDERS  147 

when,  unaware  of  this  fierce  intolerance,  which  is  more 
savage  still  at  breeding-time,  I  saw  hideous  orgies  per- 
petrated in  my  overstocked  cages.  I  shall  have  occasion 
to  describe  those  tragedies  later. 

Let  us  meanwhile  consider  the  isolated  Lycosse.  They 
do  not  touch  up  the  dwelling  which  I  have  molded  for 
them  with  a  t>it  of  reed ;  at  most,  now  and  again,  perhaps 
with  the  object  of  forming  a  lounge  or  bedroom  at  the 
bottom,  they  fling  out  a  few  loads  of  rubbish.  But  all, 
little  by  little,  build  the  kerb  that  is  to  edge  the  mouth. 

I  have  given  them  plenty  of  first-rate  materials,  far 
superior  to  those  which  they  use  when  left  to  their  own 
resources.  These  consist,  first,  for  the  foundations,  of 
little  smooth  stones,  some  of  which  are  as  large  as  an 
almond.  With  this  road-metal  are  mingled  short  strips 
of  raphia,  or  palm-fiber,  flexible  ribbons,  easily  bent. 
These  stand  for  the  Spider's  usual  basket-work,  consist- 
ing of  slender  stalks  and  dry  blades  of  grass.  Lastly,  by 
way  of  an  unprecedented  treasure,  never  yet  employed 
by  a  Lycosa,  I  place  at  my  captives'  disposal  some  thick 
threads  of  wool,  cut  into  inch  lengths. 

As  I  wish,  at  the  same  time,  to  find  out  whether  my 
animals,  with  the  magnificent  lenses  of  their  eyes,  are 
able  to  distinguish  colors  and  prefer  one  color  to  another, 
I  mix  up  bits  of  wool  of  different  hues:  there  are  red, 
green,  white,  and  yellow  pieces.  If  the  Spider  have  any 
preference  she  can  choose  where  she  pleases. 

The  Lycosa  always  works  at  night,  a  regrettable  cir- 
cumstance, which  does  not  allow  me  to  follow  the  work- 
er's methods.  I  see  the  result ;  and  that  is  all.  Were  I 


148       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

to  visit  the  building-yard  by  the  light  of  a  lantern,  I 
should  be  no  wiser.  The  Spider,  who  is  very  shy,  would 
at  once  dive  into  her  lair;  and  I  should  have  lost  my 
sleep  for  nothing.  Furthermore,  she  is  not  a  very  dili- 
gent laborer;  she  likes  to  take  her  time.  Two  or  three 
bits  of  wool  or  raphia  placed  in  position  represent  a  whole 
night's  work.  And  to  this  slowness  we  must  add  long 
spells  of  utter  idleness. 

Two  months  pass ;  and  the  result  of  my  liberality  sur- 
passes my  expectations.  Possessing  more  windfalls  than 
they  know  what  to  do  with,  all  picked  up  in  their  imme- 
diate neighborhood,  my  Lycosae  have  built  themselves 
donjon-keeps  the  like  of  which  their  race  has  not  yet 
known.  Around  the  orifice,  on  a  slightly  sloping  bank, 
small,  flat,  smooth  stones  have  been  laid  to  form  a  broken, 
flagged  pavement.  The  larger  stones,  which  are  Cy- 
clopean blocks  compared  with  the  size  of  the  animal  that 
has  shifted  them,  are  employed  as  abundantly  as  the 
others. 

On  this  rockwork  stands  the  donjon.  It  is  an  inter- 
lacing of  raphia  and  bits  of  wool,  picked  up  at  random, 
without  distinction  of  shade.  Red  and  white,  green  and 
yellow  are  mixed  without  any  attempt  at  order.  The 
Lycosa  is  indifferent  to  the  joys  of  color. 

The  ultimate  result  is  a  sort  of  muff,  a  couple  of  inches 
high.  Bands  of  silk,  supplied  by  the  spinnerets,  unite 
the  pieces,  so  that  the  whole  resembles  a  coarse  fabric. 
Without  being  absolutely  faultless,  for  there  are  always 
awkward  pieces  on  the  outside,  which  the  worker  could 
not  handle,  the  gaudy  building  is  not  devoid  of  merit 


THE  SPIDERS  149 

The  bird  lining  its  nest  would  do  no  better.  Whoso  sees 
the  curious,  many-colored  productions  in  my  pans  takes 
them  for  an  outcome  of  my  industry,  contrived  with  a 
view  to  some  experimental  mischief;  and  his  surprise  is 
great  when  I  confess  who  the  real  author  is.  No  one 
would  ever  believe  the  Spider  capable  of  constructing 
such  a  monument. 

It  goes  without  saying  that,  in  a  state  of  liberty,  on 
our  barren  waste-lands,  the  Lycosa  does  not  indulge  in 
such  sumptuous  architecture.  I  have  given  the  reason: 
she  is  too  great  a  stay-at-home  to  go  in  search  of  mate- 
rials and  she  makes  use  of  the  limited  resources  which 
she  finds  around  her.  Bits  of  earth,  small  chips  of  stone, 
a  few  twigs,  a  few  withered  grasses :  that  is  all,  or  nearly 
all.  Wherefore  the  work  is  generally  quite  modest  and 
reduced  to  a  parapet  that  hardly  attracts  attention. 

My  captives  teach  us  that,  when  materials  are  plenti- 
ful, especially  textile  materials  that  remove  all  fears  of 
landslip,  the  Lycosa  delights  in  tall  turrets.  She  under- 
stands the  art  of  donjon-building  and  puts  it  into  practice 
as  often  as  she  possesses  the  means. 

What  is  the  purpose  of  this  turret?  My  pans  will  tell 
us  that.  An  enthusiastic  votary  of  the  chase,  so  long  as 
she  is  not  permanently  fixed,  the  Lycosa,  once  she  has 
set  up  house,  prefers  to  lie  in  ambush  and  wait  for  the 
quarry.  Every  day,  when  the  heat  is  greatest,  I  see  my 
captives  come  up  slowly  from  under  ground  and  lean 
upon  the  battlements  of  their  wooly  castle-keep.  They 
are  then  really  magnificent  in  their  stately  gravity.  With 
their  swelling  belly  contained  within  the  aperture,  their 


150       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

head  outside,  their  glassy  eyes  staring,  their  legs  gathered 
for  a  spring,  for  hours  and  hours  they  wait,  motionless, 
bathing  voluptuously  in  the  sun. 

Should  a  tit-bit  to  her  liking  happen  to  pass,  forthwith 
the  watcher  darts  from  her  tall  tower,  swift  as  an  arrow 
from  the  bow.  With  a  dagger-thrust  in  the  neck,  she 
stabs  the  jugular  of  the  Locust,  Dragon-fly  or  other  prey 
whereof  I  am  the  purveyor;  and  she  as  quickly  scales 
the  donjon  and  retires  with  her  capture.  The  perform- 
ance is  a  wonderful  exhibition  of  skill  and  speed. 

Very  seldom  is  a  quarry  missed,  provided  that  it  pass 
at  a  convenient  distance,  within  the  range  of  the  hunt- 
ress' bound.  But,  if  the  prey  be  at  some  distance,  for 
instance  on  the  wire  of  the  cage,  the  Lycosa  takes  no 
notice  of  it.  Scorning  to  go  in  pursuit,  she  allows  it  to 
roam  at  will.  She  never  strikes  except  when  sure  of  her 
stroke.  She  achieves  this  by  means  of  her  tower.  Hid- 
ing behind  the  wall,  she  sees  the  stranger  advancing, 
keeps  her  eye  on  him  and  suddenly  pounces  when  he 
comes  within  reach.  These  abrupt  tactics  make  the  thing 
a  certainty.  Though  he  were  winged  and  swift  of  flight, 
the  unwary  one  who  approaches  the  ambush  is  lost. 

This  presumes,  it  is  true,  an  exemplary  patience  on  the 
Lycosa's  part ;  for  the  burrow  has  naught  that  can  serve 
to  entice  victims.  At  best,  the  ledge  provided  by  the 
turret  may,  at  rare  intervals,  tempt  some  weary  wayfarer 
to  use  it  as  a  resting-place.  But,  if  the  quarry  do  not 
come  to-day,  it  is  sure  to  come  to-mprrow,  the  next  day, 
or  later,  for  the  Locusts  hop  innumerable  in  the  waste- 
land, nor  are  they  always  able  to  regulate  their  leaps. 


THE  SPIDERS  151 

Some  day  or  other,  chance  is  bound  to  bring  one  of  them 
within  the  purlieus  of  the  burrow.  This  is  the  moment 
to  spring  upon  the  pilgrim  from  the  ramparts.  Until 
then,  we  maintain  a  stoical  vigilance.  We  shall  dine 
when  we  can ;  but  we  shall  end  by  dining. 

The  Lycosa,  therefore,  well  aware  of  these  lingering 
eventualities,  waits  and  is  not  unduly  distressed  by  a  pro- 
longed abstinence.  She  has  an  accommodating  stomach, 
which  is  satisfied  to  be  gorged  to-day  and  to  remain 
empty  afterwards  for  goodness  knows  how  long.  I  have 
sometimes  neglected  my  catering  duties  for  weeks  at  a 
time ;  and  my  boarders  have  been  none  the  worse  for  it. 
After  a  more  or  less  protracted  fast,  they  do  not  pine 
away,  but  are  smitten  with  a  wolf-like  hunger.  All  these 
ravenous  eaters  are  alike:  they  guzzle  to  excess  to-day, 
in  anticipation  of  to-morrow's  dearth. 

The  Laying 

Chance,  a  poor  stand-by,  sometimes  contrives  very 
well.  At  the  beginning  of  the  month  of  August,  the 
children  call  me  to  the  far  side  of  the  enclosure,  rejoicing 
in  a  find  which  they  have  made  under  the  rosemary- 
bushes.  It  is  a  magnificent  Lycosa,  with  an  enormous 
belly,  the  sign  of  an  impending  delivery. 

Early  one  morning,  ten  days  later,  I  find  her  preparing 
for  her  confinement.  A  silk  network  is  first  spun  on 
the  ground,  covering  an  extent  about  equal  to  the  palm 
of  one's  hand.  It  is  coarse  and  shapeless,  but  firmly 
fixed.  This  is  the  floor  on  which  the  Spider  means  to 
operate. 


152       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

On  this  foundation,  which  acts  as  a  protection  from 
the  sand,  the  Lycosa  fashions  a  round  mat,  the  size  of  a 
two-franc  piece  and  made  of  superb  white  silk.  With 
a  gentle,  uniform  movement,  which  might  be  regulated 
by  the  wheels  of  a  delicate  piece  of  clockwork,  the  tip 
of  the  abdomen  rises  and  falls,  each  time  touching  the 
supporting  base  a  little  farther  away,  until  the  extreme 
scope  of  the  mechanism  is  attained. 

Then,  without  the  Spider's  moving  her  position,  the 
oscillation  is  resumed  in  the  opposite  direction.  By 
means  of  this  alternate  motion,  interspersed  with  numer- 
ous contacts,  a  segment  of  the  sheet  is  obtained,  of  a  very 
accurate  texture.  When  this  is  done,  the  Spider  moves 
a  little  along  a  circular  line  and  the  loom  works  in  the 
same  manner  on  another  segment. 

The  silk  disk,  a  sort  of  hardy  concave  paten,  now  no 
longer  receives  anything  from  the  spinnerets  in  its  center ; 
the  marginal  belt  alone  increases  in  thickness.  The  piece 
thus  becomes  a  bowl-shaped  porringer,  surrounded  by  a 
wide,  flat  edge. 

The  time  for  the  laying  has  come.  With  one  quick 
emission,  the  viscous,  pale-yellow  eggs  are  laid  in  the 
basin,  where  they  heap  together  in  the  shape  of  a  globe 
which  projects  largely  outside  the  cavity.  The  spinner- 
ets are  once  more  set  going.  With  short  movements,  as 
the  tip  of  the  abdomen  rises  and  falls  to  weave  the  round 
mat,  they  cover  up  the  exposed  hemisphere.  The  result 
is  a  pill  set  in  the  middle  of  a  circular  carpet. 

The  legs,  hitherto  idle,  are  now  working.  They  take 
up  and  break  off  one  by  one  the  threads  that  keep  the 


THE  SPIDERS  153 

round  mat  stretched  on  the  coarse  supporting  network. 
At  the  same  time  the  fangs  grip  this  sheet,  lift  it  by 
degrees,  tear  it  from  its  base  and  fold  it  over  upon  the 
globe  of  eggs.  It  is  a  laborious  operation.  The  whole 
edifice  totters,  the  floor  collapses,  fouled  with  sand.  By 
a  movement  of  the  legs,  those  soiled  shreds  are  cast  aside. 
Briefly,  by  means  of  violent  tugs  of  the  fangs,  which  pull, 
and  broom-like  efforts  of  the  legs,  which  clear  away,  the 
Lycosa  extricates  the  bag  of  eggs  and  removes  it  as  a 
clear-cut  mass,  free  from  any  adhesion. 

It  is  a  white-silk  pill,  soft  to  the  touch  and  glutinous. 
Its  size  is  that  of  an  average  cherry.  An  observant  eye 
will  notice,  running  horizontally  around  the  middle,  a 
fold  which  a  needle  is  able  to  raise  without  breaking  it. 
This  hem,  generally  undistinguishable  from  the  rest  of 
the  surface,  is  none  other  than  the  edge  of  the  circular 
mat,  drawn  over  the  lower  hemisphere.  The  other 
hemisphere,  through  which  the  youngsters  will  go  out, 
is  less  well  fortified :  its  only  wrapper  is  the  texture  spun 
over  the  eggs  immediately  after  they  were  laid. 

The  work  of  spinning,  followed  by  that  of  tearing,  is 
continued  for  a  whole  morning,  from  five  to  nine  o'clock. 
Worn  out  with  fatigue,  the  mother  embraces  her  dear 
pill  and  remains  motionless.  I  shall  see  no  more  to-day. 
Next  morning,  I  find  the  Spider  carrying  the  bag  of  eggs 
slung  from  her  stern. 

Henceforth,  until  the  hatching,  she  does  not  leave  go 
of  the  precious  burden,  which,  fastened  to  the  spinnerets 
by  a  short  ligament,  drags  and  bumps  along  the  ground. 
With  this  load  banging  against  her  heels,  she  goes  about 


154       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

her  business ;  she  walks  or  rests,  she  seeks  her  prey,  at- 
tacks it  and  devours  it.  Should  some  accident  cause  the 
wallet  to  drop  off,  it  is  soon  replaced.  The  spinnerets 
touch  it  somewhere,  anywhere,  and  that  is  enough:  ad- 
hesion is  at  once  restored. 

When  the  work  is  done,  some  of  them  emancipate 
themselves,  think  they  will  have  a  look  at  the  country 
before  retiring  for  good  and  all.  It  is  these  whom  we 
meet  at  times,  wandering  aimlessly  and  dragging  their 
bag  behind  them.  Sooner  or  later,  however,  the  vagrants 
return  home ;  and  the  month  of  August  is  not  over  before 
a  straw  rustled  in  any  burrow  will  bring  the  mother  up, 
with  her  wallet  slung  behind  her.  I  am  able  to  procure 
as  many  as  I  want  and,  with  them,  to  indulge  in  certain 
experiments  of  the  highest  interest. 

It  is  a  sight  worth  seeing,  that  of  the  Lycosa  dragging 
her  treasure  after  her,  never  leaving  it,  day  or  night, 
sleeping  or  waking,  and  defending  it  with  a  courage  that 
strikes  the  beholder  with  awe.  If  I  try  to  take  the  bag 
from  her,  she  presses  it  to  her  breast  in  despair,  hangs 
on  to  my  pincers,  bites  them  with  her  poison-fangs.  I 
can  hear  the  daggers  grating  on  the  steel.  No,  she 
would  not  allow  herself  to  be  robbed  of  the  wallet  with 
impunity,  if  my  fingers  were  not  supplied  with  an  im- 
plement. 

By  dint  of  pulling  and  shaking  the  pill  with  the  for- 
ceps, I  take  it  from  the  Lycosa,  who  protests  furiously. 
I  fling  her  in  exchange  a  pill  taken  from  another  Lycosa. 
It  is  at  once  seized  in  the  fangs,  embraced  by  the  legs 


THE  SPIDERS  155 

and  hung  on  to  the  spinneret  Her  own  or  another's: 
it  is  all  one  to  the  Spider,  who  walks  away  proudly  with 
the  alien  wallet.  This  was  to  be  expected,  in  view  of 
the  similarity  of  the  pills  exchanged. 

A  test  of  another  kind,  with  a  second  subject,  renders 
the  mistake  more  striking.  I  substitute,  in  the  place  of 
the  lawful  bag  which  I  have  removed,  the  work  of  the 
Silky  Epeira.  The  color  and  softness  of  the  material 
are  the  same  in  both  cases;  but  the  shape  is  quite  differ- 
ent. The  stolen  object  is  a  globe;  the  object  presented 
in  exchange  is  an  elliptical  conoid  studded  with  angular 
projections  along  the  edge  of  the  base.  The  Spider 
takes  no  account  of  this  dissimilarity.  She  promptly 
glues  the  queer  bag  to  her  spinnerets  and  is  as  pleased 
as  though  she  were  in  possession  of  her  real  pill.  My 
experimental  villainies  have  no  other  consequence  beyond 
an  ephemeral  carting.  When  hatching-time  arrives, 
early  in  the  case  of  Lycosa,  late  in  that  of  the  Epeira,  the 
gulled  Spider  abandons  the  strange  bag  and  pays  it  no 
further  attention. 

Let  us  penetrate  yet  deeper  into  the  wallet-bearer's 
stupidity.  After  depriving  the  Lycosa  of  her  eggs,  I 
throw  her  a  ball  of  cork,  roughly  polished  with  a  file 
and  of  the  same  size  as  the  stolen  pill.  She  accepts  the 
corky  substance,  so  different  from  the  silk  purse,  without 
the  least  demur.  One  would  have  thought  that  she 
would  recognize  her  mistake  with  those  eight  eyes  of 
hers,  which  gleam  like  precious  stones.  The  silly  crea- 
ture pays  no  attention.  Lovingly  she  embraces  the  cork 


156       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

ball,  fondles  it  with  her  palpi,  fastens  it  to  her  spinnerets 
and  thenceforth  drags  it  after  her  as  though  she  were 
dragging  her  own  bag. 

Let  us  give  another  the  choice  between  the  imitation 
and  the  real.  The  rightful  pill  and  the  cork  ball  are 
placed  together  on  the  floor  of  the  jar.  Will  the  Spider 
be  able  to  know  the  one  that  belongs  to  her?  The  fool 
is  incapable  of  doing  so.  She  makes  a  wild  rush  and 
seizes  haphazard  at  one  time  her  property,  at  another  my 
sham  product.  Whatever  is  first  touched  becomes  a 
good  capture  and  is  forthwith  hung  up. 

If  I  increase  the  number  of  cork  balls,  if  I  put  in  four 
or  five  of  them,  with  the  real  pill  among  them,  it  is 
seldom  that  the  Lycosa  recovers  her  own  property.  At- 
tempts at  inquiry,  attempts  at  selection  there  are  none. 
Whatever  she  snaps  up  at  random  she  sticks  to,  be  it 
good  or  bad.  As  there  are  more  of  the  sham  pills  of 
cork,  these  are  the  most  often  seized  by  the  Spider. 

This  obtuseness  baffles  me.  Can  the  animal  be  de- 
ceived by  the  soft  contact  of  the  cork?  I  replace  the 
cork  balls  by  pellets  of  cotton  or  paper,  kept  in  their 
round  shape  with  a  few  bands  of  thread.  Both  are  very 
readily  accepted  instead  of  the  real  bag  that  has  been 
removed. 

Can  the  illusion  be  due  to  the  coloring,  which  is  light 
in  the  cork  and  not  unlike  the  tint  of  the  silk  globe  when 
soiled  with  a  little  earth,  while  it  is  white  in  the  paper 
and  the  cotton,  when  it  is  identical  with  that  of  the  origi- 
nal pill?  I  give  the  Lycosa,  in  exchange  for  her  work, 
a  pellet  of  silk  thread,  chosen  of  a  fine  red,  the  brightest 


o  o 


II 


THE  SPIDERS  157 

of  all  colors.     The  uncommon  pill  is  as  readily  accepted 
and  as  jealously  guarded  as  the  others. 

The  Family 

For  three  weeks  and  more  the  Lycosa  trails  the  bag 
of  eggs  hanging  to  her  spinnerets.  The  reader  will  re- 
member the  experiments  described  in  the  preceding  sec- 
tion, particularly  those  with  the  cork  ball  and  the  thread 
pellet  which  the  Spider  so  foolishly  accepts  in  exchange 
for  the  real  pill.  Well,  this  exceedingly  dull-witted 
mother,  satisfied  with  aught  that  knocks  against  her  heels, 
is  about  to  make  us  wonder  at  her  devotion. 

Whether  she  come  up  from  her  shaft  to  lean  upon  the 
kerb  and  bask  in  the  sun,  whether  she  suddenly  retire 
underground  in  the  face  of  danger,  or  whether  she  be 
roaming  the  country  before  settling  down,  never  does  she 
let  go  her  precious  bag,  that  very  cumbrous  burden  in 
walking,  climbing  or  leaping.  If,  by  some  accident,  it 
become  detached  from  the  fastening  to  which  it  is  hung, 
she  flings  herself  madly  on  her  treasure  and  lovingly  em- 
braces it,  ready  to  bite  whoso  would  take  it  from  her. 
I  myself  am  sometimes  the  thief.  I  then  hear  the  points 
of  the  poison-fangs  grinding  against  the  steel  of  my 
pincers,  which  tug  in  one  direction  while  the  Lycosa  tugs 
in  the  other.  But  let  us  leave  the  animal  alone :  with  a 
quick  touch  of  the  spinnerets,  the  pill  is  restored  to  its 
place;  and  the  Spider  strides  off,  still  menacing. 

Towards  the  end  of  summer,  all  the  householders,  old 
or  young,  whether  in  captivity  on  the  window-sill  or  at 
liberty  in  the  paths  of  the  enclosure,  supply  me  daily  with 


158       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

the  following  improving  sight.  In  the  morning,  as  soon 
as  the  sun  is  hot  and  beats  upon  their  burrow,  the  anchor- 
ites come  up  from  the  bottom  with  their  bag  and  station 
themselves  at  the  opening.  Long  siestas  on  the  threshold 
in  the  sun  are  the  order  of  the  day  throughout  the  fine 
season;  but,  at  the  present  time,  the  position  adopted  is 
a  different  one.  Formerly,  the  Lycosa  came  out  into 
the  sun  for  her  own  sake.  Leaning  on  the  parapet,  she 
had  the  front  half  of  her  body  outside  the  pit  and  the 
hinder  half  inside.  The  eyes  took  their  fill  of  light; 
the  belly  remained  in  the  dark.  When  carrying  her  egg- 
bag,  the  spider  reverses  the  posture:  the  front  is  in  the 
pit,  the  rear  outside.  With  her  hind-legs  she  holds 
the  white  pill  bulging  with  germs  lifted  above  the  en- 
trance; gently  she  turns  and  turns  it,  so  as  to  present 
every  side  to  the  life-giving  rays.  And  this  goes  on  for 
half  the  day,  so  long  as  the  temperature  is  high ;  and  it 
is  repeated  daily,  with  exquisite  patience,  during  three 
or  four  weeks.  To  hatch  its  eggs,  the  bird  covers  them 
with  the  quilt  of  its  breast;  it  strains  them  to  the  furnace 
of  its  heart.  The  Lycosa  turns  hers  in  front  of  the 
hearth  of  hearths :  she  gives  them  the  sun  as  an  incubator. 

In  the  early  days  of  September  the  young  ones,  who 
have  been  some  time  hatched,  are  ready  to  come  out. 

The  whole  family  emerges  from  the  bag  straightway. 
Then  and  there,  the  youngsters  climb  to  the  mother's 
back.  As  for  the  empty  bag,  now  a  worthless  shred,  it 
is  flung  out  of  the  burrow ;  the  Lycosa  does  not  give  it 
a  further  thought.  Huddled  together,  sometimes  in  two 
or  three  layers,  according  to  their  number,  the  little  ones 


THE  SPIDERS  159 

cover  the  whole  back  of  the  mother,  who,  for  seven  or 
eight  months  to  come,  will  carry  her  family  night  and 
day.  Nowhere  can  we  hope  to  see  a  more  edifying  do- 
mestic picture  than  that  of  the  Lycosa  clothed  in  her 
young. 

From  time  to  time  I  meet  a  little  band  of  gipsies  pass- 
ing along  the  high-road  on  their  way  to  some  neigh- 
boring fair.  The  new-born  babe  mewls  on  the  mother's 
breast,  in  a  hammock  formed  out  of  a  kerchief.  The 
last-weaned  is  carried  pick-a-back;  a  third  toddles  cling- 
ing to  its  mother's  skirts;  others  follow  closely,  the 
biggest  in  the  rear,  ferreting  in  the  blackberry-laden 
hedgerows.  It  is  a  magnificent  spectacle  of  happy-go- 
lucky  fruit  fulness.  They  go  their  way,  penniless  and 
rejoicing.  The  sun  is  hot  and  the  earth  is  fertile. 

But  how  this  picture  pales  before  that  of  the  Lycosa, 
that  incomparable  gipsy  whose  brats  are  numbered  by  the 
hundred !  And  one  and  all  of  them,  from  September  to 
April,  without  a  moment's  respite,  find  room  upon  the 
patient  creature's  back,  where  they  are  content  to  lead  a 
tranquil  life  and  to  be  carted  about. 

The  little  ones  are  very  good ;  none  moves,  none  seeks 
a  quarrel  with  his  neighbors.  Clinging  together,  they 
form  a  continuous  drapery,  a  shaggy  ulster  under  which 
the  mother  becomes  unrecognizable.  Is  it  an  animal, 
a  fluff  of  wool,  a  cluster  of  small  seeds  fastened  to  one 
another?  'T  is  impossible  to  tell  at  the  first  glance. 

The  equilibrium  of  this  living  blanket  is  not  so  firm 
but  that  falls  often  occur,  especially  when  the  mother 
climbs  from  indoors  and  comes  to  the  threshold  to  let 


160       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

the  little  ones  take  the  sun.  The  least  brush  against  the 
gallery  unseats  a  part  of  the  family.  The  mishap  is  not 
serious.  The  Hen,  fidgeting  about  her  Chicks,  looks  for 
the  strays,  calls  them,  gathers  them  together.  The  Ly- 
cosa  knows  not  these  maternal  alarms.  Impassively,  she 
leaves  those  who  drop  off  to  manage  their  own  difficulty, 
which  they  do  with  wonderful  quickness.  Commend  me 
to  those  youngsters  for  getting  up  without  whining,  dust- 
ing themselves  and  resuming  their  seat  in  the  saddle! 
The  unhorsed  ones  promptly  find  a  leg  of  the  mother,  the 
usual  climbing-pole ;  they  swarm  up  it  as  fast  as  they  can 
and  recover  their  places  on  the  bearer's  back.  The  liv- 
ing bark  of  animals  is  reconstructed  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye. 

To  speak  here  of  mother-love  were,  I  think,  extrava- 
gant. The  Lycosa's  affection  for  her  offspring  hardly 
surpasses  that  of  the  plant,  which  is  unacquainted  with 
any  tender  feeling  and  nevertheless  bestows  the  nicest  and 
most  delicate  care  upon  its  seeds.  The  animal,  in  many 
cases,  knows  no  other  sense  of  motherhood.  What  cares 
the  Lycosa  for  her  brood!  She  accepts  another's  as 
readily  as  her  own ;  she  is  satisfied  so  long  as  her  back 
is  burdened  with  a  swarming  crowd,  whether  it  issue 
from  her  ovaries  or  elsewhere.  There  is  no  question 
here  of  real  maternal  affection. 

I  have  described  elsewhere  the  prowess  of  the  Copris 
watching  over  cells  that  are  not  her  handiwork  and  do 
not  contain  her  offspring.  With  a  zeal  which  even  the 
additional  labor  laid  upon  her  does  not  easily  weary,  she 
removes  the  mildew  from  the  alien  dung-balls,  which  far 


THE  SPIDERS  161 

exceed  the  regular  nests  in  number;  she  gently  scrapes 
and  polishes  and  repairs  them ;  she  listens  attentively  and 
enquires  by  ear  into  each  nurseling's  progress.  Her  real 
collection  could  not  receive  greater  care.  Her  own  fam- 
ily or  another's :  it  is  all  one  to  her. 

The  Lycosa  is  equally  indifferent.  I  take  a  hair-pencil 
and  sweep  the  living  burden  from  one  of  my  Spiders, 
making  it  fall  close  to  another  covered  with  her  little 
ones.  The  evicted  youngsters  scamper  about,  find  the 
new  mother's  legs  outspread,  nimbly  clamber  up  these 
and  mount  on  the  back  of  the  obliging  creature,  who 
quietly  lets  them  have  their  way.  They  slip  in  among 
the  others,  or,  when  the  layer  is  too  thick,  push  to  the 
front  and  pass  from  the  abdomen  to  the  thorax  and  even 
to  the  head,  though  leaving  the  region  of  the  eyes  uncov- 
ered. It  does  not  do  to  blind  the  bearer:  the  common 
safety  demands  that.  They  know  this  and  respect  the 
lenses  of  the  eyes,  however  populous  the  assembly  be. 
The  whole  animal  is  now  covered  with  a  swarming  carpet 
of  young,  all  except  the  legs,  which  must  preserve  their 
freedom  of  action,  and  the  under  part  of  the  body,  where 
contact  with  the  ground  is  to  be  feared. 

My  pencil  forces  a  third  family  upon  the  already  over- 
burdened Spider;  and  this  too  is  peacefully  accepted. 
The  youngsters  huddle  up  closer,  lie  one  on  top  of  the 
other  in  layers  and  room  is  found  for  all.  The  Lycosa 
has  lost  the  last  semblance  of  an  animal,  has  become  a 
nameless  bristling  thing  that  walks  about.  Falls  are  fre- 
quent and  are  followed  by  continual  climbings. 

I  perceive  that  I  have  reached  the  limits,  not  of  the 


162       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

bearer's  good-will,  but  of  equilibrium.  The  Spider 
would  adopt  an  indefinite  further  number  of  foundlings, 
if  the  dimensions  of  her  back  afforded  them  a  firm  hold. 
Let  us  be  content  with  this.  Let  us  restore  each  family 
to  its  mother,  drawing  at  random  from  the  lot.  There 
must  necessarily  be  interchanges,  but  that  is  of  no  impor- 
tance: real  children  and  adopted  children  are  the  same 
thing  in  the  Lycosa's  eyes. 

One  would  like  to  know  if,  apart  from  my  artifices,  in 
circumstances  where  I  do  not  interfere,  the  good-natured 
dry-nurse  sometimes  burdens  herself  with  a  supplement- 
ary family;  it  would  also  be  interesting  to  learn  what 
comes  of  this  association  of  lawful  offspring  and  stran- 
gers. I  have  ample  materials  wherewith  to  obtain  an 
answer  to  both  questions.  I  have  housed  in  the  same 
cage  two  elderly  matrons  laden  with  youngsters.  Each 
has  her  home  as  far  removed  from  the  other's  as  the  size 
of  the  common  pan  permits.  The  distance  is  nine  inches 
or  more.  It  is  not  enough.  Proximity  soon  kindles 
firece  jealousies  between  those  intolerant  creatures,  who 
are  obliged  to  live  far  apart  so  as  to  secure  adequate 
hunting-grounds. 

One  morning  I  catch  the  two  harridans  fighting  out 
their  quarrel  on  the  floor.  The  loser  is  laid  flat  upon 
her  back;  the  victress,  belly  to  belly  with  her  adversary, 
clutches  her  with  her  legs  and  prevents  her  from  moving 
a  limb.  Both  have  their  poison-fangs  wide  open,  ready 
to  bite  without  yet  daring,  so  mutually  formidable  are 
they.  After  a  certain  period  of  waiting,  during  which 
the  pair  merely  exchange  threats,  the  stronger  of  the  two, 


THE  SPIDERS  163 

the  one  on  top,  closes  her  lethal  engine  and  grinds  the 
head  of  the  prostrate  foe.  Then  she  calmly  devours  the 
deceased  by  small  mouth fuls. 

Now  what  do  the  youngsters  do,  while  their  mother  is 
being  eaten?  Easily  consoled,  heedless  of  the  atrocious 
scene,  they  climb  on  the  conqueror's  back  and  quietly  take 
their  places  among  the  lawful  family.  The  ogress  raises 
no  objection,  accepts  them  as  her  own.  She  makes  a 
meal  off  the  mother  and  adopts  the  orphans. 

Let  us  add  that,  for  many  months  yet,  until  the  final 
emancipation  comes,  she  will  carry  them  without  draw- 
ing any  distinction  between  them  and  her  own  young. 
Henceforth  the  two  families,  united  in  so  tragic  a  fash- 
ion, will  form  but  one.  We  see  how  greatly  out  of  place 
it  would  be  to  speak,  in  this  connection,  of  mother-love 
and  its  fond  manifestations. 

Does  the  Lycosa  at  least  feed  the  younglings  who,  for 
seven  months,  swarm  upon  her  back?  Does  she  invite 
them  to  the  banquet  when  she  has  secured  a  prize?  I 
thought  so  at  first;  and,  anxious  to  assist  at  the  family 
repast,  I  devoted  special  attention  to  watching  the  moth- 
ers eat.  As  a  rule,  the  prey  is  consumed  out  of  sight, 
in  the  burrow ;  but  sometimes  also  a  meal  is  taken  on  the 
threshold,  in  the  open  air.  Besides,  it  is  easy  to  rear 
the  Lycosa  and  her  family  in  a  wire-gauze  cage,  with 
a  layer  of  earth  wherein  the  captive  will  never  dream  of 
sinking  a  well,  such  work  being  out  of  season.  Every- 
thing then  happens  in  the  open. 

Well,  while  the  mother  munches,  chews,  expresses  the 
juices  and  swallows,  the  youngsters  do  not  budge  from 


164       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

their  camping-ground  on  her  back.  Not  one  quits  its 
place  nor  gives  a  sign  of  wishing  to  slip  down  and  join  in 
the  meal.  Nor  does  the  mother  extend  an  invitation  to 
them  to  come  and  recruit  themselves,  nor  put  any  broken 
victuals  aside  for  them.  She  feeds  and  the  others  look 
on,  or  rather  remain  indifferent  to  what  is  happening. 
Their  perfect  quiet  during  the  Lycosa's  feast  points  to 
the  possession  of  a  stomach  that  knows  no  cravings. 

Then  with  what  are  they  sustained,  during  their  seven 
months'  upbringing  on  the  mother's  back?  One  con- 
ceives a  notion  of  exudations  supplied  by  the  bearer's 
body,  in  which  case  the  young  would  feed  on  their 
mother,  after  the  manner  of  parasitic  vermin,  and  gradu- 
ally drain  her  strength. 

We  must  abandon  this  notion.  Never  are  they  seen 
to  put  their  mouths  to  the  skin  that  should  be  a  sort  of 
teat  to  them.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Lycosa,  far  from 
being  exhausted  and  shriveling,  keeps  perfectly  well  and 
plump.  She  has  the  same  pot-belly  when  she  finishes 
rearing  her  young  as  when  she  began.  She  has  not  lost 
weight:  far  from  it;  on  the  contrary,  she  has  put  on 
flesh:  she  has  gained  the  wherewithal  to  beget  a  new 
family  next  summer,  one  as  numerous  as  to-day's. 

Once  more,  with  what  do  the  little  ones  keep  up  their 
strength?  We  do  not  like  to  suggest  reserves  supplied 
by  the  egg  as  rectifying  the  animal's  expenditure  of  vital 
force,  especially  when  we  consider  that  those  reserves, 
themselves  so  close  to  nothing,  must  be  economized  in 
view  of  the  silk,  a  material  of  the  highest  importance, 
of  which  a  plentiful  use  will  be  made  presently.  There 


THE  SPIDERS  165 

must  be  other  powers   at  play  in   the  tiny   animal's 
machinery. 

Total  abstinence  from  food  could  be  understood,  if 
it  were  accompanied  by  inertia:  immobility  is  not  life. 
But  the  young  Lycosae,  though  usually  quiet  on  their 
mother's  back,  are  at  all  times  ready  for  exercise  and 
for  agile  swarming.  When  they  fall  from  the  maternal 
perambulator,  they  briskly  pick  themselves  up,  briskly 
scramble  up  a  leg  and  make  their  way  to  the  top.  It  is 
a  splendidly  nimble  and  spirited  performance.  Besides, 
once  seated,  they  have  to  keep  a  firm  balance  in  the  mass ; 
they  have  to  stretch  and  stiffen  their  little  limbs  in  order 
to  hang  on  to  their  neighbors.  As  a  matter  of  fact  there 
is  no  absolute  rest  for  them.  Now  physiology  teaches 
us  that  not  a  fiber  works  without  some  expenditure  of 
energy.  The  animal,  which  can  be  likened,  in  no  small 
measure,  to  our  industrial  machines,  demands,  on  the  one 
hand,  the  renovation  of  its  organism,  which  wears  out 
with  movement,  and,  on  the  other,  the  maintenance  of 
the  heat  transformed  into  action.  We  can  compare  it 
with  the  locomotive-engine.  As  the  iron  horse  performs 
its  work,  it  gradually  wears  out  its  pistons,  its  rods,  its 
wheels,  its  boiler-tubes,  all  of  which  have  to  be  made 
good  from  time  to  time.  The  founder  and  the  smith 
repair  it,  supply  it,  so  to  speak,  with  "  plastic  food,"  the 
food  that  becomes  embodied  with  the  whole  and  forms 
part  of  it.  But,  though  it  has  just  come  from  the 
engine-shop,  it  is  still  inert.  To  acquire  the  power  of 
movement  it  must  receive  from  the  stoker  a  supply  of 
"  energy-producing  food  " ;  in  other  words,  he  lights  a 


166       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

few  shovelfuls  of  coal  in  its  inside.  This  heat  will  pro- 
duce mechanical  work. 

Even  so  with  the  beast.  As  nothing  is  made  from 
nothing,  the  egg  supplies  first  the  materials  of  the  new- 
born animals;  then  the  plastic  food,  the  smith  of  living 
creatures,  increases  the  body,  up  to  a  certain  limit,  and 
renews  it  as  it  wears  away.  The  stoker  works  at  the 
same  time,  without  stopping.  Fuel,  the  source  of  energy, 
makes  but  a  short  stay  in  the  system,  where  it  is  con- 
sumed and  furnishes  heat,  whence  movement  is  derived. 
Life  is  a  fire-box.  Warmed  by  its  food,  the  animal  ma- 
chine moves,  walks,  runs,  jumps,  swims,  flies,  sets  its 
locomotory  apparatus  going  in  a  thousand  manners. 

To  return  to  the  young  Lycosae,  they  grow  no  larger 
until  the  period  of  their  emancipation.  I  find  them  at 
the  age  of  seven  months  the  same  as  when  I  saw  them 
at  their  birth.  The  egg  supplied  the  materials  necessary 
for  their  tiny  frames ;  and,  as  the  loss  of  waste  substance 
is,  for  the  moment,  excessively  small,  or  even  nil,  addi- 
tional plastic  food  is  not  needed  so  long  as  the  wee  crea- 
ture does  not  grow.  In  this  respect,  the  prolonged 
abstinence  presents  no  difficulty.  But  there  remains  the 
question  of  energy-producing  food,  which  is  indispensa- 
ble, for  the  little  Lycosa  moves,  when  necessary,  and  very 
actively  at  that.  To  what  shall  we  attribute  the  heat 
expended  upon  action,  when  the  animal  takes  absolutely 
no  nourishment  ? 

An  idea  suggests  itself.  We  say  to  ourselves  that, 
without  being  life,  a  machine  is  something  more  than 
matter,  for  man  has  added  a  little  of  his  mind  to  it. 


THE  SPIDERS  167 

Now  the  iron  beast,  consuming  its  ration  of  coal,  is  really 
browsing  the  ancient  foliage  of  arborescent  ferns  in 
which  solar  energy  has  accumulated. 

Beasts  of  flesh  and  blood  act  no  otherwise.  Whether 
they  mutually  devour  one  another  or  levy  tribute  on  the 
plant,  they  invariably  quicken  themselves  with  the  stimu- 
lant of  the  sun's  heat,  a  heat  stored  in  grass,  fruit,  seed 
and  those  which  feed  on  such.  The  sun,  the  soul  of  the 
universe,  is  the  supreme  dispenser  of  energy. 

Instead  of  being  served  up  through  the  intermediary 
of  food  and  passing  through  the  ignominious  circuit  of 
gastric  chemistry,  could  not  this  solar  energy  penetrate 
the  animal  directly  and  charge  it  with  activity,  even  as 
the  battery  charges  an  accumulator  with  power?  Why 
not  live  on  sun,  seeing  that,  after  all,  we  find  naught  but 
sun  in  the  fruits  which  we  consume  ? 

Chemical  science,  that  bold  revolutionary,  promises  to 
provide  us  with  synthetic  foodstuffs.  The  laboratory 
and  the  factory  will  take  the  place  of  the  farm.  Why 
should  not  physical  science  step  in  as  well?  It  would 
leave  the  preparation  of  plastic  food  to  the  chemist's  re- 
torts ;  it  would  reserve  for  itself  that  of  energy-producing 
food  which,  reduced  to  its  exact  terms,  ceases  to  be  mat- 
ter. With  the  aid  of  some  ingenious  apparatus,  it  would 
pump  into  us  our  daily  ration  of  solar  energy,  to  be  later 
expended  in  movement,  whereby  the  machine  would  be 
kept  going  without  the  often  painful  assistance  of  the 
stomach  and  its  adjuncts.  What  a  delightful  world, 
where  one  could  lunch  off  a  ray  of  sunshine! 

Is  it  a  dream,  or  the  anticipation  of  a  remote  reality? 


i68       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

The  problem  is  one  of  the  most  important  that  science 
can  set  us.  Let  us  first  hear  the  evidence  of  the  young 
Lycosae  regarding  its  possibilities. 

For  seven  months,  without  any  material  nourishment, 
they  expend  strength  in  moving.  To  wind  up  the  mech- 
anism of  their  muscles,  they  recruit  themselves  direct 
with  heat  and  light.  During  the  time  when  she  was 
dragging  the  bag  of  eggs  behind  her,  the  mother,  at  the 
best  moments  of  the  day,  came  and  held  up  her  pill  to 
the  sun.  With  her  two  hind-legs  she  lifted  it  out  of  the 
ground  into  the  full  light;  slowly  she  turned  it  and 
turned  it,  so  that  every  side  might  receive  its  share  of  the 
vivifying  rays.  Well,  this  bath  of  life,  which  awakened 
the  germs,  is  now  prolonged  to  keep  the  tender  babes 
active. 

Daily,  if  the  sky  be  clear,  the  Lycosa,  carrying  her 
young,  comes  up  from  the  burrow,  leans  on  the  kerb 
and  spends  long  hours  basking  in  the  sun.  Here,  on 
their  mother's  back,  the  youngsters  stretch  their  limbs  de- 
lightedly, saturate  themselves  with  heat,  take  in  reserves 
of  motion-power,  absorb  energy. 

They  are  motionless;  but,  if  I  only  blow  upon  them, 
they  stampede  as  nimbly  as  though  a  hurricane  were  pass- 
ing. Hurriedly,  they  disperse;  hurriedly,  they  reassem- 
ble :  a  proof  that,  without  material  nourishment,  the  little 
animal  machine  is  always  at  full  pressure,  ready  to  work. 
When  the  shade  comes,  mother  and  sons  go  down  again, 
surfeited  with  solar  emanations.  The  feast  of  energy 
at  the  Sun  Tavern  is  finished  for  the  day. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   BANDED   EPEIRA 

Building  the  Web 

THE  fowling-snare  is  one  of  man's  ingenious,  villainies. 
With  lines,  pegs  and  poles,  two  large,  earth-colored  nets 
are  stretched  upon  the  ground,  one  to  the  right,  the  other 
to  the  left  of  a  bare  surface.  A  long  cord,  pulled  at  the 
right  moment  by  the  fowler,  who  hides  in  a  brushwood 
hut,  works  them  and  brings  them  together  suddenly,  like 
a  pair  of  shutters. 

Divided  between  the  two  nets  are  the  cages  of  the 
decoy-birds  —  Linnets  and  Chaffinches,Greenfinches  and 
Yellowhammers,  Buntings  and  Ortolans  —  sharp-eared 
creatures  which,  on  perceiving  the  distant  passage  of  a 
flock  of  their  own  kind,  forthwith  utter  a  short  calling 
note.  One  of  them,  the  Sambe,  an  irresistible  tempter, 
hops  about  and  flaps  his  wings  in  apparent  freedom.  A 
bit  of  twine  fastens  him  to  his  convict's  stake.  When, 
worn  with  fatigue  and  driven  desperate  by  his  vain  at- 
tempts to  get  away,  the  sufferer  lies  down  flat  and  refuses 
to  do  his  duty,  the  fowler  is  able  to  stimulate  him  with- 
out stirring  from  his  hut.  A  long  string  sets  in  motion 
a  little  lever  working  on  a  pivot.  Raised  from  the 
ground  by  this  diabolical  contrivance,  the  bird  flies,  falls 
down  and  flies  up  again  at  each  jerk  of  the  cord. 
169 


170       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

The  fowler  waits,  in  the  mild  sunlight  of  the  autumn 
morning.  Suddenly,  great  excitement  in  the  cages. 
The  Chaffinches  chirp  their  rallying  cry : 

"Pinck!     Pinck!" 

There  is  something  happening  in  the  sky.  The  Sambe, 
quick!  They  are  coming,  the  simpletons;  they  swoop 
down  upon  the  treacherous  floor.  With  a  rapid  move- 
ment, the  man  in  ambush  pulls  his  string.  The  nets 
close  and  the  whole  flock  is  caught. 

Man  has  wild  beast's  blood  in  his  veins.  The  fowler 
hastens  to  the  slaughter.  With  his  thumb  he  stifles  the 
beating  of  the  captives'  hearts,  staves  in  their  skulls. 
The  little  birds,  so  many  piteous  heads  of  game,  will  go 
to  market,  strung  in  dozens  on  a  wire  passed  through 
their  nostrils. 

For  scoundrelly  ingenuity,  the  Epeira's  net  can  bear 
comparison  with  the  fowler's;  it  even  surpasses  it  when, 
on  patient  study,  the  main  features  of  its  supreme  perfec- 
tion stand  revealed.  W'hat  refinement  of  art  for  a  mess 
of  Flies!  Nowhere,  in  the  whole  animal  kingdom,  has 
the  need  to  eat  inspired  a  more  cunning  industry.  If  the 
reader  will  meditate  upon  the  description  that  follows, 
he  will  certainly  share  my  admiration. 

In  bearing  and  coloring,  Epeira  fasciata  is  the  hand- 
somest of  the  Spiders  of  the  South.  On  her  fat  belly,  a 
mighty  silk-warehouse  nearly  as  large  as  a  hazel-nut,  are 
alternate  yellow,  black  and  silver  sashes,  to  which  she 
owes  her  epithet  of  Banded.  Around  that  portly  abdo- 
men the  eight  long  legs,  with  their  dark-  and  pale-brown 
rings,  radiate  like  spokes. 


THE  BANDED  EPEIRA  171 

Any  small  prey  suits  her ;  and,  as  long  as  she  can  find 
supports  for  her  web,  she  settles  wherever  the  Locust 
hops,  wherever  the  Fly  hovers,  wherever  the  Dragon-fly 
dances  or  the  Butterfly  flits.  As  a  rule,  because  of  the 
greater  abundance  of  game,  she  spreads  her  toils  across 
some  brooklet,  from  bank  to  bank  among  the  rushes. 
She  also  stretches  them,  but  not  so  assiduously,  in  the 
thickets  of  evergreen  oak,  on  the  slopes  with  the  scrubby 
greenswards,  dear  to  the  Grasshoppers. 

Her  hunting-weapon  is  a  large  upright  web,  whose 
outer  boundary,  which  varies  according  to  the  disposi- 
tion of  the  ground,  is  fastened  to  the  neighboring 
branches  by  a  number  of  moorings.  Let  us  see,  first  of 
all,  how  the  ropes  which  form  the  framework  of  the 
building  are  obtained. 

All  day  invisible,  crouching  amid  the  cypress-leaves, 
the  Spider,  at  about  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening,  solemnly 
emerges  from  her  retreat  and  makes  for  the  top  of  a 
branch.  In  this  exalted  position  she  sits  for  some  time 
laying  her  plans  with  due  regard  to  the  locality;  she 
consults  the  weather,  ascertains  if  the  night  will  be  fine. 
Then,  suddenly,  with  her  eight  legs  widespread,  she  lets 
herself  drop  straight  down,  hanging  to  the  line  that  issues 
from  her  spinnerets.  Just  as  the  rope-maker  obtains  the 
even  output  of  his  hemp  by  walking  backwards,  so  does 
the  Epeira  obtain  the  discharge  of  hers  by  falling.  It 
is  extracted  by  the  weight  of  her  body. 

The  descent,  however,  has  not  the  brute  speed  which 
the  force  of  gravity  would  give  it,  if  uncontrolled.  It  is 
governed  by  the  action  of  the  spinnerets,  which  contract 


172       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

or  expand  their  pores,  or  close  them  entirely,  at  the  fall- 
er's  pleasure.  And  so,  with  gentle  moderation,  she  pays 
out  this  living  plumb-line,  of  which  my  lantern  clearly 
shows  me  the  plumb,  but  not  always  the  line.  The  great 
squab  seems  at  such  times  to  be  sprawling  in  space,  with- 
out the  least  support. 

She  comes  to  an  abrupt  stop  two  inches  from  the 
ground;  the  silk-reel  ceases  working.  The  Spider  turns 
round,  clutches  the  line  which  she  has  just  obtained  and 
climbs  up  by  this  road,  still  spinning.  But,  this  time, 
as  she  is  no  longer  assisted  by  the  force  of  gravity,  the 
thread  is  extracted  in  another  manner.  The  two  hind- 
legs,  with  a  quick  alternate  action,  draw  it  from  the 
wallet  and  let  it  go. 

On  returning  to  her  starting-point,  at  a  height  of  six 
feet  or  more,  the  Spider  is  now  in  possession  of  a  double 
line,  bent  into  a  loop  and  floating  loosely  in  a  current  of 
air.  She  fixes  her  end  where  it  suits  her  and  waits  until 
the  other  end,  wafted  by  the  wind,  has  fastened  its  loop 
to  the  adjacent  twigs. 

Feeling  her  thread  fixed,  the  Epeira  runs  along  it 
repeatedly,  from  end  to  end,  adding  a  fiber  to  it  on  each 
journey.  Whether  I  help  or  not,  this  forms  the  "  sus- 
pension-cable," the  main  piece  of  the  framework.  I  call 
it  a  cable,  in  spite  of  its  extreme  thinness,  because  of 
its  structure.  It  looks  as  though  it  were  single,  but  at 
the  two  ends,  it  is  seen  to  divide  and  spread,  tuft-wise, 
into  numerous  constituent  parts,  which  are  the  product 
of  as  many  crossings.  These  diverging  fibers,  with  their 


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o 


THE  BANDED  EPEIRA  173 

several  contact-points,  increase  the  steadiness  of  the  two 
extremities. 

The  suspension-cable  is  incomparably  stronger  than 
the  rest  of  the  work  and  lasts  for  an  indefinite  time. 
The  web  is  generally  shattered  after  the  night's  hunting 
and  is  nearly  always  rewoven  on  the  following  evening. 
After  the  removal  of  the  wreckage,  it  is  made  all  over 
again,  on  the  same  site,  cleared  of  everything  except  the 
cable  from  which  the  new  network  is  to  hang. 

Once  the  cable  is  laid,  in  this  way  or  in  that,  the  Spider 
is  in  possession  of  a  base  that  allows  her  to  approach 
or  withdraw  from  the  leafy  piers  at  will.  From  the 
height  of  the  cable  she  lets  herself  slip  to  a  slight  depth, 
varying  the  points  of  her  fall.  In  this  way  she  obtains, 
to  right  and  left,  a  few  slanting  cross-bars,  connecting 
the  cable  with  the  branches. 

These  cross-bars,  in  their  turn,  support  others  in  ever- 
changing  directions.  When  there  are  enough  of  them, 
the  Epeira  need  no  longer  resort  to  falls  in  order  to 
extract  her  threads ;  she  goes  from  one  cord  to  the  next, 
always  wire-drawing  with  her  hind-legs.  This  results  in 
a  combination  of  straight  lines  owning  no  order,  save 
that  they  are  kept  in  one  nearly  perpendicular  plane. 
Thus  is  marked  out  a  very  irregular  polygonal  area, 
wherein  the  web,  itself  a  work  of  magnificent  regularity, 
shall  presently  be  woven. 

In  the  lower  part  of  the  web,  starting  from  the  center, 
a  wide  opaque  ribbon  descends  zigzag-wise  across  the 
radii.  This  is  the  Epeira's  trade-mark,  the  flourish  of 


174       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

an  artist  initialing  his  creation.  "  Fecit  So-and-so,"  she 
seems  to  say,  when  giving  the  last  throw  of  the  shuttle 
to  her  handiwork. 

That  the  Spider  feels  satisfied  when,  after  passing  and 
repassing  from  spoke  to  spoke,  she  finishes  her  spiral,  is 
beyond  a  doubt :  the  work  achieved  ensures  her  food  for 
a  few  days  to  come.  But,  in  this  particular  case,  the 
vanity  of  the  spinstress  has  naught  to  say  to  the  matter : 
the  strong  silk  zigzag  is  added  to  impart  greater  firmness 
to  the  web. 

The  Lime-snare 

The  spiral  network  of  the  Epeirse  possesses  contriv- 
ances of  fearsome  cunning.  The  thread  that  forms  it  is 
seen  with  the  naked  eye  to  differ  from  that  of  the  frame- 
work and  the  spokes.  It  glitters  in  the  sun,  looks  as 
though  it  were  knotted  and  gives  the  impression  of  a 
chaplet  of  atoms.  To  examine  it  through  the  lens  on  the 
web  itself  is  scarcely  feasible,  because  of  the  shaking  of 
the  fabric,  which  trembles  at  the  least  breath.  By  pass- 
ing a  sheet  of  glass  under  the  web  and  lifting  it,  I  take 
away  a  few  pieces  of  thread  to  study,  pieces  that  remain 
fixed  to  the  glass  in  parallel  lines.  Lens  and  microscope 
can  now  play  their  part. 

The  sight  is  perfectly  astounding.  Those  threads,  on 
the  borderland  between  the  visible  and  the  invisible,  are 
very  closely  twisted  twine,  similar  to  the  gold  cord  of  our 
officers'  sword-knots.  Moreover,  they  are  hollow.  The 
infinitely  slender  is  a  tube,  a  channel  full  of  a  viscous 
moisture  resembling  a  strong  solution  of  gum  arabic. 


THE  BANDED  EPEIRA  175 

I  can  see  a  diaphanous  trail  of  this  moisture  trickling 
through  the  broken  ends.  Under  the  pressure  of  the 
thin  glass  slide  that  covers  them  on  the  stage  of  the 
microscope,  the  twists  lengthen  out,  become  crinkled  rib- 
bons, traversed  from  end  to  end,  through  the  middle,  by 
a  dark  streak,  which  is  the  empty  container. 

The  fluid  contents  must  ooze  slowly  through  the  side 
of  those  tubular  threads,  rolled  into  twisted  strings,  and 
thus  render  the  network  sticky.  It  is  sticky,  in  fact,  and 
in  such  a  way  as  to  provoke  surprise.  I  bring  a  fine 
straw  flat  xlown  upon  three  or  four  rungs  of  a  sector. 
However  gentle  the  contact,  adhesion  is  at  once  estab- 
lished. When  I  lift  the  straw,  the  threads  come  with  it 
and  stretch  to  twice  or  three  times  their  length,  like  a 
thread  of  india-rubber.  At  last,  when  over-taut,  they 
loosen  without  breaking  and  resume  their  original  form. 
They  lengthen  by  unrolling  their  twist,  they  shorten  by 
rolling  it  again;  lastly,  they  become  adhesive  by  taking 
the  glaze  of  the  gummy  moisture  wherewith  they  are 
filled. 

In  short,  the  spiral  thread  is  a  capillary  tube  finer  than 
any  that  our  physics  will  ever  know.  It  is  rolled  into  a 
twist  so  as  to  possess  an  elasticity  that  allows  it,  without 
breaking,  to  yield  to  the  tugs  of  the  captured  prey;  it 
holds  a  supply  of  sticky  matter  in  reserve  in  its  tube,  so 
as  to  renew  the  adhesive  properties  of  the  surface  by 
incessant  exudation,  as  they  become  impaired  by  ex- 
posure to  the  air.  It  is  simply  marvelous. 

The  Epeira  hunts  not  with  springs,  but  with  lime- 
snares.  And  such  lime-snares !  Everything  is  caught  in 


176       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

them,  down  to  the  dandelion-plume  that  barely  brushes 
against  them.  Nevertheless,  the  Epeira,  who  is  in  con- 
stant touch  with  her  web,  is  not  caught  in  them.  Why  ? 
Because  the  Spider  has  contrived  for  herself,  in  the  mid- 
dle of  her  trap,  a  floor  in  whose  construction  the  sticky 
spiral  thread  plays  no  part.  There  is  here,  covering  a 
space  which,  in  the  larger  webs,  is  about  equal  to  the 
palm  of  one's  hand,  a  neutral  fabric  in  which  the  explor- 
ing straw  finds  no  adhesiveness  anywhere. 

Here,  on  this  central  resting-floor,  and  here  only,  the 
Epeira  takes  her  stand,  waiting' whole  days  for  the  ar- 
rival of  the  game.  However  close,  however  prolonged 
her  contact  with  this  portion  of  the  web,  she  runs  no 
risk  of  sticking  to  it,  because  the  gummy  coating  is 
lacking,  as  is  the  twisted  and  tubular  structure,  through- 
out the  length  of  the  spokes  and  throughout  the  extent  of 
the  auxiliary  spiral.  These  pieces,  together  with  the  rest 
of  the  framework,  are  made  of  plain,  straight,  solid 
thread. 

But  when  a  victim  is  caught,  sometimes  right  at  the 
edge  of  the  web,  the  Spider  has  to  rush  up  quickly,  to 
bind  it  and  overcome  its  attempts  to  free  itself.  She  is 
walking  then  upon  her  network;  and  I  do  not  find  that 
she  suffers  the  least  inconvenience.  The  lime-threads 
are  not  even  lifted  by  the  movements  of  her  legs. 

In  my  boyhood,  when  a  troop  of  us  would  go,  on 
Thursdays,1  to  try  and  catch  a  Goldfinch  in  the  hemp- 
fields,  we  used,  before  covering  the  twigs  with  glue,  to 
grease  our  fingers  with  a  few  drops  of  oil,  let  we  should 

1  The  weekly  half-holiday  in  French  schools.—  Translator's  Note. 


THE  BANDED  EPEIRA  177 

get  them  caught  in  the  sticky  matter.  Does  the  Epeira 
know  the  secret  of  fatty  substances?  Let  us  try. 

I  rub  my  exploring  straw  with  slightly  oiled  paper. 
When  applied  to  the  spiral  thread  of  the  web,  it  now  no 
longer  sticks  to  it.  The  principle  is  discovered.  I  pull 
out  the  leg  of  a  live  Epeira.  Brought  just  as  it  is  into 
contact  with  the  lime-threads,  it  does  not  stick  to  them 
any  more  than  to  the  neutral  cords,  whether  spokes  or 
part  of  the  framework.  We  were  entitled  to  expect  this, 
judging  by  the  Spider's  general  immunity. 

But  here  Is  something  that  wholly  alters  the  result.  I 
put  the  leg  to  soak  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  in  disulphide 
of  carbon,  the  best  solvent  of  fatty  matters.  I  wash  it 
carefully  with  a  brush  dipped  in  the  same  fluid.  When 
this  washing  is  finished,  the  leg  sticks  to  the  snaring- 
thread  quite  easily  and  adheres  to  it  just  as  well  as  any- 
thing else  would,  the  unoiled  straw,  for  instance. 

Did  I  guess  aright  when  I  judged  that  it  was  a  fatty 
substance  that  preserved  the  Epeira  from  the  snares  of 
her  sticky  Catherine-wheel?  The  action  of  the  carbon- 
disulphide  seems  to  say  yes.  Besides,  there  is  no  reason 
why  a  substance  of  this  kind,  which  plays  so  frequent  a 
part  in  animal  economy,  should  not  coat  the  Spider  very 
slightly  by  the  mere  act  of  perspiration.  We  used  to 
rub  our  ringers  with  a  little  oil  before  handling  the  twigs 
in  which  the  Goldfinch  was  to  be  caught;  even  so  the 
Epeira  varnishes  herself  with  a  special  sweat,  to  operate 
on  any  part  of  her  web  without  fear  of  the  lime-threads. 

However,  an  unduly  protracted  stay  on  the  sticky 
threads  would  have  its  drawbacks.  In  the  long  run, 


178       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

continual  contact  with  those  threads  might  produce  a 
certain  adhesion  and  inconvenience  to  the  Spider,  who 
must  preserve  all  her  agility  in  order  to  rush  upon  the 
prey  before  it  can  release  itself.  For  this  reason,  gummy 
threads  are  never  used  in  building  the  post  of  intermin- 
able waiting. 

It  is  only  on  her  resting-floor  that  the  Epeira  sits,  mo- 
tionless and  with  her  eight  legs  outspread,  ready  to  mark 
the  least  quiver  in  the  net.  It  is  here,  again,  that  she 
takes  her  meals,  often  long-drawn-out,  when  the  joint  is 
a  substantial  one;  it  is  hither  that,  after  trussing  and 
nibbling  it,  she  drags  her  prey  at  the  end  of  a  thread,  to 
consume  it  at  her  ease  on  a  non-viscous  mat.  As  a  hunt- 
ing-post and  refectory,  the  Epeira  has  contrived  a  cen- 
tral space,  free  from  glue. 

As  for  the  glue  itself,  it  is  hardly  possible  to  study  its 
chemical  properties,  because  the  quantity  is  so  slight. 
The  microscope  shows  it  trickling  from  the  broken 
threads  in  the  form  of  a  transparent  and  more  or  less 
granular  streak.  The  following  experiment  will  tell  us 
more  about  it. 

With  a  sheet  of  glass  passed  across  the  web,  I  gather 
a  series  of  lime-threads  which  remain  fixed  in  parallel 
lines.  I  cover  this  sheet  with  a  bell-jar  standing  in  a 
depth  of  water.  Soon,  in  this  atmosphere  saturated  with 
humidity,  the  threads  become  enveloped  in  a  watery 
sheath,  which  gradually  increases  and  begins  to  flow. 
The  twisted  shape  has  by  this  time  disappeared ;  and  the 
channel  of  the  thread  reveals  a  chaplet  of  translucent 
orbs,  that  is  to  say,  a  series  of  extremely  fine  drops. 


THE  BANDED  EPEIRA  179 

In  twenty-four  hours  the  threads  have  lost  their  con- 
tents and  are  reduced  to  almost  invisible  streaks.  If  I 
then  lay  a  drop  of  water  on  the  glass,  I  get  a  sticky 
solution  similar  to  that  which  a  particle  of  gum  arabic 
might  yield.  The  conclusion  is  evident:  the  Epeira's 
glue  is  a  substance  that  absorbs  moisture  freely.  In  an 
atmosphere  with  a  high  degree  of  humidity,  it  becomes 
saturated  and  percolates  by  sweating  through  the  side  of 
the  tubular  threads. 

These  data  explain  certain  facts  relating  to  the  work  of 
the  net.  The  Epeirae  weave  at  very  early  hours,  long 
before  dawn.  Should  the  air  turn  misty,  they  sometimes 
leave  that  part  of  the  task  unfinished :  they  build  the  gen- 
eral framework,  they  lay  the  spokes,  they  even  draw  the 
auxiliary  spiral,  for  all  these  parts  are  unaffected  by  ex- 
cess of  moisture ;  but  they  are  very  careful  not  to  work 
at  the  lime-threads,  which,  if  soaked  by  the  fog,  would 
dissolve  into  sticky  shreds  and  lose  their  efficacy  by  being 
wetted.  The  net  that  was  started  will  be  finished  to- 
morrow, if  the  atmosphere  be  favorable. 

While  the  highly  absorbent  character  of  the  snaring- 
thread  has  its  drawbacks,  it  also  has  compensating  ad- 
vantages. The  Epeirae,  when  hunting  by  day,  affect 
those  hot  places,  exposed  to  the  fierce  rays  of  the  sun, 
wherein  the  Crickets  delight.  In  the  torrid  heats  of  the 
dog-days,  therefore,  the  lime-threads,  but  for  special  pro- 
visions, would  be  liable  to  dry  up,  to  shrivel  into  stiff  and 
lifeless  filaments.  But  the  very  opposite  happens.  At 
the  most  scorching  times  of  the  day  they  continue  supple, 
elastic  and  more  and  more  adhesive. 


i8o       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

How  is  this  brought  about?  By  their  very  powers  of 
absorption.  The  moisture  of  which  the  air  is  never  de- 
prived penetrates  them  slowly;  it  dilutes  the  thick  con- 
tents of  their  tubes  to  the  requisite  degree  and  causes  it 
to  ooze  through,  as  and  when  the  earlier  stickiness  de- 
creases. What  bird-catcher  could  vie  with  the  Garden 
Spider  in  the  art  of  laying  lime-snares?  And  all  this 
industry  and  cunning  for  the  capture  of  a  Moth! 

I  should  like  an  anatomist  endowed  with  better  imple- 
ments than  mine  and  with  less  tired  eyesight  to  explain 
to  us  the  work  of  the  marvelous  rope-yard.  How  is  the 
silky  matter  molded  into  a  capillary  tube?  How  is  this 
tube  filled  with  glue  and  tightly  twisted  ?  And  how  does 
this  same  mill  also  turn  out  plain  threads,  wrought  first 
into  a  framework  and  then  into  muslin  and  satin  ?  What 
a  number  of  products  to  come  from  that  curious  factory, 
a  Spider's  belly !  I  behold  the  results,  but  fail  to  under- 
stand the  working  of  the  machine.  I  leave  the  problem 
to  the  masters  of  the  microtome  and  the  scalpel. 

The  Hunt 

The  Epeirse  are  monuments  of  patience  in  their  lime- 
snare.  With  her  head  down  and  her  eight  legs  wide- 
spread, the  Spider  occupies  the  center  of  the  web,  the 
receiving-point  of  the  information  sent  along  the  spokes. 
If  anywhere,  behind  or  before,  a  vibration  occur,  the 
sign  of  a  capture,  the  Epeira  knows  about  it,  even  with- 
out the  aid  of  sight.  She  hastens  up  at  once. 

Until  then,  not  a  movement:  one  would  think  that 


THE  BANDED  EPEIRA  181 

the  animal  was  hypnotized  by  her  watching.  At  most, 
on  the  appearance  of  anything  suspicious,  she  begins 
shaking  her  nest.  This  is  her  way  of  inspiring  the 
intruder  with  awe.  If  I  myself  wish  to  provoke  the 
singular  alarm,  I  have  but  to  tease  the  Epeira  with  a 
bit  of  straw.  You  cannot  have  a  swing  without  an 
impulse  of  some  sort.  The  terror-stricken  Spider,  who 
wishes  to  strike  terror  into  others,  has  hit  upon  some- 
thing much  better.  With  nothing  to  push  her,  she 
swings  with  the  floor  of  ropes.  There  is  no  effort,  'no 
visible  exertion.  Not  a  single  part  of  the  animal  moves ; 
and  yet  everything  trembles.  Violent  shaking  proceeds 
from  apparent  inertia.  Rest  causes  commotion. 

When  calm  is  restored,  she  resumes  her  attitude,  cease- 
lessly pondering  the  harsh  problem  of  life: 

"  Shall  I  dine  to-day,  or  not?  " 

Certain  privileged  beings,  exempt  from  those  anxieties, 
have  food  in  abundance  and  need  not  struggle  to  obtain 
it.  Such  is  the  Gentle,  who  swims  blissfully  in  the  broth 
of  the  putrefying  Adder.  Others  —  and,  by  a  strange 
irony  of  fate,  these  are  generally  the  most  gifted  —  only 
manage  to  eat  by  dint  of  craft  and  patience. 

You  are  of  their  company,  O  my  industrious  Epeirse ! 
So  that  you  may  dine,  you  spend  your  treasures  of 
patience  nightly;  and  often  without  result.  I  sym- 
pathize with  your  woes,  for  I,  who  am  as  concerned  as 
you  about  my  daily  bread,  T  also  doggedly  spread  my 
net,  the  net  for  catching  ideas,  a  more  elusive  and 
less  substantial  prize  than  the  Moth.  Let  us  not  lose 


182        THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

heart.  The  best  part  of  life  is  not  in  the  present,  still 
less  in  the  past;  it  lies  in  the  future,  the  domain  of  hope. 
Let  us  wait. 

All  day  long,  the  sky,  of  a  uniform  gray,  has  appeared 
to  be  brewing  a  storm.  In  spite  of  the  threatened  down- 
pour, my  neighbor,  who  is  a  shrewd  weather-prophet, 
has  come  out  of  the  cypress-tree  and  begun  to  renew 
her  web  at  the  regular  hour.  Her  forecast  is  correct :  it 
will  be  a  fine  night.  See,  the  steaming-pan  of  the  clouds 
splits  open;  and,  through  the  apertures,  the  moon  peeps, 
inquisitively.  I  too,  lantern  in  hand,  am  peeping.  A 
gust  of  wind  from  the  north  clears  the  realms  on  high ; 
the  sky  becomes  magnificent;  perfect  calm  reigns  below. 
The  Moths  begin  their  nightly  rounds.  Good !  One  is 
caught,  a  mighty  fine  one.  The  Spider  will  dine  to-day. 

What  happens  next,  in  an  uncertain  light,  does  not 
lend  itself  to  accurate  observation.  It  is  better  to  turn 
to  those  Garden  Spiders  who  never  leave  their  web  and 
•who  hunt  mainly  in  the  daytime.  The  Banded  and  the 
Silky  Epeira,  both  of  whom  live  on  the  rosemaries  in 
the  enclosure,  shall  show  us  in  broad  daylight  the  inner- 
most details  of  the  tragedy. 

I  myself  place  on  the  lime-snare  a  victim  of  my  select- 
ing. Its  six  legs  are  caught  without  more  ado.  If  the 
insect  raises  one  of  its  tarsi  and  pulls  towards  itself,  the 
treacherous  thread  follows,  unwinds  slightly  and,  without 
letting  go  or  breaking,  yields  to  the  captive's  desperate 
jerks.  Any  limb  released  only  tangles  the  others  still 
more  and  is  speedily  recaptured  by  the  sticky  matter. 
There  is  no  means  of  escape,  except  by  smashing  the 


THE  BANDED  EPEIRA  183 

trap  with  a  sudden  effort  whereof  even  powerful  insects 
are  not  always  capable. 

Warned  by  the  shaking  of  the  net,  the  Epeira  hastens 
up ;  she  turns  round  about  the  quarry ;  she  inspects  it  at 
a  distance,  so  as  to  ascertain  the  extent  of  the  danger 
before  attacking.  The  strength  of  the  snareling  will 
decide  the  plan  of  campaign.  Let  us  first  suppose  the 
usual  case,  that  of  an  average  head  of  game,  a  Moth  or 
Fly  of  some  sort.  Facing  her  prisoner,  the  Spider  con- 
tracts her  abdomen  slightly  and  touches  the  insect  for  a 
moment  with  the  end  of  her  spinnerets;  then,  with  her 
front  tarsi,  she  sets  her  victim  spinning.  The  Squirrel, 
in  the  moving  cylinder  of  his  cage,  does  not  display  a 
more  graceful  or  nimbler  dexterity.  A  cross-bar  of  the 
sticky  spiral  serves  as  an  axis  for  the  tiny  machine,  which 
turns,  turns  swiftly,  like  a  spit.  It  is  a  treat  to  the  eyes 
to  see  it  revolve. 

What  is  the  object  of  this  circular  motion?  It  is  this : 
the  brief  contact  of  the  spinnerets  has  given  a  starting- 
point  for  a  thread,  which  the  Spider  must  now  draw  from 
her  silk  warehouse  and  gradually  roll  around  the  captive, 
so  as  to  swathe  him  in  a  winding-sheet  which  will  over- 
power any  effort  made.  It  is  the  exact  process  employed 
in  our  wire-mills :  a  motor-driven  spool  revolves  and,  by 
its  action,  draws  the  wire  through  the  narrow  eyelet  of  a 
steel  plate,  making  it  of  the  fineness  required,  and,  with 
the  same  movement,  winds  it  round  and  round  its  collar. 

Even  so  with  the  Epeira's  work.  The  Spider's  front 
tarsi  are  the  motor;  the  revolving  spool  is  the  captured 
insect;  the  steel  eyelet  is  the  aperture  of  the  spinnerets. 


184       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

To  bind  the  subject  with  precision  and  dispatch  nothing 
could  be  better  than  this  inexpensive  and  highly  effective 
method. 

Less  frequently,  a  second  process  is  employed.  With 
a  quick  movement,  the  Spider  herself  turns  round  about 
the  motionless  insect,  crossing  the  web  first  at  the  top 
and  then  at  the  bottom  and  gradually  placing  the 
fastenings  of  her  line.  The  great  elasticity  of  the  lime- 
threads  allows  the  Epeira  to  fling  herself  time  after  time 
right  into  the  web  and  to  pass  through  it  without  damag- 
ing the  net. 

Let  us  now  suppose  the  case  of  some  dangerous  game : 
a  Praying  Mantis,  for  instance,  brandishing  her  lethal 
limbs,  each  hooked  and  fitted  with  a  double  saw;  an 
angry  Hornet,  darting  her  awful  sting;  a  sturdy  Beetle, 
invincible  under  his  horny  armor.  These  are  excep- 
tional morsels,  hardly  ever  known  to  the  Epeirae.  Will 
they  be  accepted,  if  supplied  by  my  stratagems? 

They  are,  but  not  without  caution.  The  game  is  seen 
to  be  perilous  of  approach  and  the  Spider  turns  her 
back  upon  it  instead  of  facing  it;  she  trains  her  rope- 
cannon  upon  it.  Quickly  the  hind-legs  draw  from  the 
spinnerets  something  much  better  than  single  cords. 
The  whole  silk-battery  works  at  one  and  the  same  time, 
firing  a  regular  volley  of  ribbons  and  sheets,  which  a 
wide  movement  of  the  legs  spreads  fan-wise  and  flings 
over  the  entangled  prisoner.  Guarding  against  sudden 
starts,  the  Epeira  casts  her  armfuls  of  bands  on  the  front- 
and  hind-parts,  over  the  legs  and  over  the  wings,  here, 
there  and  everywhere,  extravagantly.  The  most  fiery 


The  Banded  Epeira  swathing  her  capture.     The  web  has  given 
way  in  many  places  during  the  struggle 


THE  BANDED  EPEIRA  185 

prey  is  promptly  mastered  under  this  avalanche.  In  vain 
the  Mantis  tries  to  open  her  saw-toothed  arm-guards ;  in 
vain  the  Hornet  makes  play  with  her  dagger ;  in  vain  the 
Beetle  stiffens  his  legs  and  arches  his  back :  a  fresh  wave 
of  threads  swoops  down  and  paralyzes  every  effort. 

The  ancient  retiarius,  when  pitted  against  a  powerful 
wild  beast,  appeared  in  the  arena  with  a  rope-net  folded 
over  his  left  shoulder.  The  animal  made  its  spring. 
The  man,  with  a  sudden  movement  of  his  right  arm, 
cast  the  net  after  the  manner  of  the  fisherman;  he 
covered  the  beast  and  tangled  it  in  the  meshes.  A  thrust 
of  the  trident  gave  the  quietus  to  the  vanquished  foe. 

The  Epeira  acts  in  like  fashion,  with  this  advantage, 
that  she  is  able  to  renew  her  armful  of  fetters.  Should 
the  first  not  suffice,  a  second  instantly  follows  and 
another  and  yet  another,  until  the  reserves  of  silk  become 
exhausted. 

When  all  movement  ceases  under  the  snowy  winding- 
sheet,  the  Spider  goes  up  to  her  bound  prisoner.  She 
has  a  better  weapon  than  the  bestiarius'  trident :  she  has 
her  poison-fangs.  She  gnaws  at  the  Locust,  without 
undue  persistence,  and  then  withdraws,  leaving  the  torpid 
patient  to  pine  away. 

These  lavished,  far-flung  ribbons  threaten  to  exhaust 
the  factory ;  it  would  be  much  more  economical  to  resort 
to  the  method  of  the  spool;  but,  to  turn  the  machine, 
the  Spider  would  have  to  go  up  to  it  and  work  it  with 
her  leg.  This  is  too  risky;  and  hence  the  continuous 
spray  of  silk,  at  a  safe  distance.  When  all  is  used  up, 
there  is  more  to  come. 


i86       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

Still,  the  Epeira  seems  concerned  at  this  excessive  out- 
lay. When  circumstances  permit,  she  gladly  returns  to 
the  mechanism  of  the  revolving  spool.  I  saw  her  prac- 
tise this  abrupt  change  of  tactics  on  a  big  Beetle,  with  a 
smooth,  plump  body,  which  lent  itself  admirably  to  the 
rotary  process.  After  depriving  the  beast  of  all  power  of 
movement,  she  went  up  to  it  and  turned  her  corpulent 
victim  as  she  would  have  done  with  a  medium-sized 
Moth. 

But  with  the  Praying  Mantis,  sticking  out  her  long  legs 
and  her  spreading  wings,  rotation  is  no  longer  feasible. 
Then,  until  the  quarry  is  thoroughly  subdued,  the  spray 
of  bandages  goes  on  continuously,  even  to  the  point  of 
drying  up  the  silk  glands.  A  capture  of  this  kind  is 
ruinous.  It  is  true  that,  except  when  I  interfered,  I  have 
never  seen  the  Spider  tackle  that  formidable  provender. 

Be  it  feeble  or  strong,  the  game  is  now  neatly  trussed, 
by  one  of  the  two  methods.  The  next  move  never 
varies.  The  bound  insect  is  bitten,  without  persistency 
and  without  any  wound  that  shows.  The  Spider  next 
retires  and  allows  the  bite  to  act,  which  it  soon  does. 
She  then  returns. 

If  the  victim  be  small,  a  Clothes-moth,  for  instance,  it 
is  consumed  on  the  spot,  at  the  place  where  it  was 
captured.  But,  for  a  prize  of  some  importance,  on 
which  she  hopes  to  feast  for  many  an  hour,  some- 
times for  many  a  day,  the  Spider  needs  a  sequestered 
dining-room,  where  there  is  naught  to  fear  from  the 
stickiness  of  the  net  work.  Before  going  to  it,  she  first 
makes  her  prey  turn  in  the  converse  direction  to  that  of 


THE  BANDED  EPEIRA  187 

the  original  rotation.  Her  object  is  to  free  the  nearest 
spokes,  which  supplied  pivots  for  the  machinery.  They 
are  essential  factors  which  it  behooves  her  to  keep  intact, 
if  need  be  by  sacrificing  a  few  cross-bars. 

It  is  done ;  the  twisted  ends  are  put  back  into  position. 
The  well-trussed  game  is  at  last  removed  from  the  web 
and  fastened  on  behind  with  a  thread.  The  Spider  then 
marches  in  front  and  the  load  is  trundled  across  the  web 
and  hoisted  to  the  resting-floor,  which  is  both  an  inspec- 
tion-post and  a  dining-hall.  When  the  Spider  is  of  a 
species  that  shuns  the  light  and  possesses  a  telegraph-line, 
she  mounts  to  her  daytime  hiding-place  along  this  line, 
with  the  game  bumping  against  her  heels. 

While  she  is  refreshing  herself,  let  us  enquire  into  the 
effects  of  the  little  bite  previously  administered  to  the 
silk-swathed  captive.  Does  the  Spider  kill  the  patient 
with  a  view  to  avoiding  unseasonable  jerks,  protests  so 
disagreeable  at  dinner-time?  Several  reasons  make  me 
doubt  it.  In  the  first  place,  the  attack  is  so  much  veiled 
as  to  have  all  the  appearance  of  a  mere  kiss.  Besides, 
it  is  made  anywhere,  at  the  first  spot  that  offers.  The 
expert  slayers  employ  methods  of  the  highest  precision : 
they  give  a  stab  in  the  neck,  or  under  the  throat;  they 
wound  the  cervical  nerve-centers,  the  seat  of  energy. 
The  paralyzers,  those  accomplished  anatomists,  poison 
the  motor  nerve-centers,  of  which  they  know  the  num- 
ber and  position.  The  Epeira  possesses  none  of  this 
fearsome  knowledge.  She  inserts  her  fangs  at  random, 
as  the  Bee  does  her  sting.  She  does  not  select  one  spot 
rather  than  another;  she  bites  indifferently  at  whatever 


i88       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

comes  within  reach.  This  being  so,  her  poison  would 
have  to  possess  unparalleled  virulence  to  produce  a 
corpse-like  inertia  no  matter  which  the  point  attacked.  I 
can  scarcely  believe  in  instantaneous  death  resulting  from 
the  bite,  especially  in  the  case  of  insects,  with  their  highly 
resistant  organisms. 

Besides,  is  it  really  a  corpse  that  the  Epeira  wants,  she 
who  feeds  on  blood  much  more  than  on  flesh?  It  were 
to  her  advantage  to  suck  a  live  body,  wherein  the  flow 
of  the  liquids,  set  in  movement  by  the  pulsation  of  the 
dorsal  vessel,  that  rudimentary  heart  of  insects,  must  act 
more  freely  than  in  a  lifeless  body,  with  its  stagnant 
fluids.  The  game  which  the  Spider  means  to  suck  dry 
might  very  well  not  be  dead.  This  is  easily  ascertained. 

I  place  some  Locusts  of  different  species  on  the  webs 
in  my  menagerie,  one  on  this,  another  on  that.  The 
Spider  comes  rushing  up,  binds  the  prey,  nibbles  at  it 
gently  and  withdraws,  waiting  for  the  bite  to  take  effect. 
I  then  take  the  insect  and  carefully  strip  it  of  its  silken 
shroud.  The  Locust  is  not  dead ;  far  from  it ;  one  would 
even  think  that  he  had  suffered  no  harm.  I  examine  the 
released  prisoner  through  the  lens  in  vain;  I  can  see  no 
trace  of  a  wound. 

Can  he  be  unscathed,  in  spite  of  the  sort  of  kiss  which 
I  saw  given  to  him  just  now?  You  would  be  ready  to 
say  so,  judging  by  the  furious  way  in  which  he  kicks  in 
my  fingers.  Nevertheless,  when  put  on  the  ground,  he 
walks  awkwardly,  he  seems  reluctant  to  hop.  Perhaps 
it  is  a  temporary  trouble,  caused  by  his  terrible  excite- 
ment in  the  web.  It  looks  as  though  it  would  soon  pass. 


THE  BANDED  EPEIRA  189 

I  lodge  my  Locusts  in  cages,  with  a  lettuce-leaf  to 
console  them  for  their  trials;  but  they  will  not  be  com- 
forted. A  day  elapses,  followed  by  a  second.  Not  one 
of  them  touches  the  leaf  of  salad;  their  appetite  has 
disappeared.  Their  movements  become  more  uncertain, 
as  though  hampered  by  irresistible  torpor.  On  the 
second  day  they  are  dead,  every  one  irrecoverably  dead. 

The  Epeira,  therefore,  does  not  incontinently  kill  her 
prey  with  her  delicate  bite;  she  poisons  it  so  as  to 
produce  a  gradual  weakness,  which  gives  the  blood- 
sucker ample  time  to  drain  her  victim,  without  the  least 
risk,  before  the  rigor  mortis  stops  the  flow  of  moisture. 

The  meal  lasts  quite  twenty-four  hours,  if  the  joint 
be  large;  and  to  the  very  end  the  butchered  insect 
retains  a  remnant  of  life,  a  favorable  condition  for  the 
exhausting  of  the  juices.  Once  again,  we  see  a  skilful 
method  of  slaughter,  very  different  from  the  tactics  in 
use  among  the  expert  paralyzers  or  slayers.  Here  there 
is  no  display  of  anatomical  science.  Unacquainted  with 
the  patient's  structure,  the  Spider  stabs  at  random.  The 
virulence  of  the  poison  does  the  rest.  % 

There  are,  however,  some  very  few  cases  in  which  the 
bite  is  speedily  mortal.  My  notes  speak  of  an  Angular 
Epeira  grappling  with  the  largest  Dragon-fly  in  my 
district  (JEshna  grandis,  Lin.).  I  myself  had  entangled 
in  the  web  this  head  of  big  game,  which  is  not  often 
captured  by  the  Epeirse.  The  net  shakes  violently,  seems 
bound  to  break  its  moorings.  The  Spider  rushes  from 
her  leafy  villa,  runs  boldly  up  to  the  giantess,  flings  a 
single  bundle  of  ropes  at  her  and,  without  further  pre- 


190       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

cautions,  grips  her  with  her  legs,  tries  to  subdue  her  and 
then  digs  her  fangs  into  the  Dragon-fly's  back.  The  bite 
is  prolonged  in  such  a  way  as  to  astonish  me.  This 
is  not  the  perfunctory  kiss  with  which  I  am  already 
familiar;  it  is  a  deep,  determined  wound.  After  strik- 
ing her  blow,  the  Spider  retires  to  a  certain  distance  and 
waits  for  her  poison  to  take  effect. 

I  at  once  remove  the  Dragon-fly.  She  is  dead,  really 
and  truly  dead.  Laid  upon  my  table  and  left  alone 
for  twenty-four  hours,  she  makes  not  the  slightest 
movement.  A  prick  of  which  my  lens  cannot  see  the 
marks,  so  sharp-pointed  are  the  Epeira's  weapons,  was 
enough,  with  a  little  insistence,  to  kill  the  powerful 
animal.  Proportionately,  the  Rattlesnake,  the  Horned 
Viper,  the  Trigonocephalus  and  other  ill-famed  serpents 
produce  less  paralyzing  effects  upon  their  victims. 

And  these  Epeirse,  so  terrible  to  insects,  I  am  able  to 
handle  without  any  fear.  My  skin  does  not  suit  them. 
If  I  persuaded  them  to  bite  me,  what  would  happen  to 
me?  Hardly  anything.  We  have  more  cause  to  dread 
the  sting  of  a  nettle  than  the  dagger  which  is  fatal  to 
Dragon-flies.  The  same  virus  acts  differently  upon  this 
organism  and  that,  is  formidable  here  and  quite  mild 
there.  What  kills  the  insect  may  easily  be  harmless  to 
us.  Let  us  not,  however,  generalize  too  far.  The  Nar- 
bonne  Lycosa,  that  other  enthusiastic  insect-huntress, 
would  make  us  pay  dearly  if  we  attempted  to  take  liberties 
with  her. 

It  is  not  uninteresting  to  watch  the  Epeira  at  dinner. 
I  light  upon  one,  the  Banded  Epeira,  at  the  moment, 


THE  BANDED  EPEIRA  191 

about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  when  she  has 
captured  a  Locust.  Planted  in  the  center  of  the  web, 
on  her  resting-floor,  she  attacks  the  venison  at  the  joint 
of  a  haunch.  There  is  no  movement,  not  even  of  the 
mouth-parts,  so  far  as  I  am  able  to  discover.  The  mouth 
lingers,  close-applied,  at  the  point  originally  bitten. 
There  are  no  intermittent  mouth fuls,  with  the  mandibles 
moving  backwards  and  forwards.  It  is  a  sort  of  con- 
tinuous kiss. 

I  visit  my  Epeira  at  intervals.  The  mouth  does  not 
change  its  place.  I  visit  her  for  the  last  time  at  nine 
o'clock  in  the  evening.  Matters  stand  exactly  as  they 
did:  after  six  hours'  consumption,  the  mouth  is  still 
sucking  at  the  lower  end  of  the  right  haunch.  The  fluid 
contents  of  the  victim  are  transferred  to  the  ogress' 
belly,  I  know  not  how. 

Next  morning,  the  Spider  is  still  at  table.  I  take  away 
her  dish.  Naught  remains  of  the  Locust  but  his  skin, 
hardly  altered  in  shape,  but  utterly  drained  and  per- 
forated in  several  places.  The  method,  therefore,  was 
changed  during  the  night.  To  extract  the  non-fluent 
residue,  the  viscera  and  muscles,  the  stiff  cuticle  had  to 
be  tapped  here,  there  and  elsewhere,  after  which  the 
tattered  husk,  placed  bodily  in  the  press  of  the  man- 
dibles, would  have  been  chewed,  re-chewed  and  finally 
reduced  to  a  pill,  which  the  sated  Spider  throws  up. 
This  would  have  been  the  end  of  the  victim,  had  I  not 
taken  it  away  before  the  time. 

Whether  she  wound  or  kill,  the  Epeira  bites  her 
captive  somewhere  or  other,  no  matter  where.  This  is 


192       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

an  excellent  method  on  her  part,  because  of  the  variety 
of  the  game  that  comes  her  way.  I  see  her  accepting 
with  equal  readiness  whatever  chance  may  send  her: 
Butterflies  and  Dragon-flies,  Flies  and  Wasps,  small 
Dung-beetles  and  Locusts.  If  I  offer  her  a  Mantis,  a 
Bumble-bee,  an  Anoxia  —  the  equivalent  of  the  common 
Cockchafer  —  and  other  dishes  probably  unknown  to  her 
race,  she  accepts  all  and  any,  large  and  small,  thin- 
skinned  and  horny-skinned,  that  which  goes  afoot  and 
that  which  takes  winged  flight.  She  is  omnivorous, 
she  preys  on  everything,  down  to  her  own  kind,  should 
the  occasion  offer. 

Had  she  to  operate  according  to  individual  structure, 
she  would  need  an  anatomical  dictionary;  and  instinct 
is  essentially  unfamiliar  with  generalities :  its  knowledge 
is  always  confined  to  limited  points.  The  Cerceres 
know  their  Weevils  and  their  Buprestis-beetles  abso- 
lutely; the  Sphex  their  Grasshoppers,  their  Crickets  and 
their  Locusts ;  the  Scolise  *  their  Cetonia-  and  Oryctes- 
grubs.  Even  so  the  other  paralyzers.  Each  has  her  own 
victim  and  knows  nothing  of  any  of  the  others. 

The  same  exclusive  tastes  prevail  among  the  slayers. 
Let  us  remember,  in  this  connection,  Philanthus  apivorus 
and,  especially,  the  Thomisus,  the  comely  Spider  who 
cuts  Bees'  throats.  They  understand  the  fatal  blow, 
either  in  the  neck  or  under  the  chin,  a  thing  which 
the  Epeira  does  not  understand;  but,  just  because  of 

!The  Scolia  is  a  Digger-wasp,  like  the  Cerceris  and  the  Sphex, 
and  feeds  her  larvae  on  the  grubs  of  the  Cetonia,  or  Rose-chafer, 
and  the  Oryctes,  or  Rhinoceros-beetle. —  Translator's  Note. 


THE  BANDED  EPEIRA  193 

this  talent,  they  are  specialists.  Their  province  is  the 
Domestic  Bee. 

Animals  are  a  little  like  ourselves :  they  excel  in  an  art 
only  on  condition  of  specializing  in  it.  The  Epeira, 
who,  being  omnivorous,  is  obliged  to  generalize,  aban- 
dons scientific  methods  and  makes  up  for  this  by  dis- 
tilling a  poison  capable  of  producing  torpor  and  even 
death,  no  matter  what  the  point  attacked. 

Recognizing  the  large  variety  of  game,  we  wonder 
how  the  Epeira  manages  not  to  hesitate  amid  those  many 
diverse  forms,  how,  for  instance,  she  passes  from  the 
Locust  to  the  Butterfly,  so  different  in  appearance.  To 
attribute  to  her  as  a  guide  an  extensive  zoological  knowl- 
edge were  wildly  in  excess  of  what  we  may  reasonably 
expect  of  her  poor  intelligence.  The  thing  moves,  there- 
fore it  is  worth  catching:  this  formula  seems  to  sum  up 
the  Spider's  wisdom. 

The  Telegraph-wire 

Of  the  six  Garden  Spiders  that  form  the  object  of  my 
observations,  two  only,  the  Banded  and  the  Silky  Epeira, 
remain  constantly  in  their  webs,  even  under  the  blinding 
rays  of  a  fierce  sun.  The  others,  as  a  rule,  do  not  show 
themselves  until  nightfall.  At  some  distance  from  the 
net  they  have  a  rough-and-ready  retreat  in  the  brambles, 
an  ambush  made  of  a  few  leaves  held  together  by 
stretched  threads.  It  is  here  that,  for  the  most  part, 
they  remain  in  the  daytime,  motionless  and  sunk  in 
meditation. 

But  the  shrill  light  that  vexes  them  is  the  joy  of  the 


194        THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

fields.  At  such  times  the  Locust  hops  more  nimbly  than 
ever,  more  gaily  skims  the  Dragon-fly.  Besides,  the 
limy  web,  despite  the  rents  suffered  during  the  night,  is 
still  in  serviceable  condition.  If  some  giddy-pate  allow 
himself  to  be  caught,  will  the  Spider,  at  the  distance 
whereto  she  has  retired,  be  unable  to  take  advantage  of 
the  windfall?  Never  fear.  She  arrives  in  a  flash. 
How  is  she  apprised?  Let  us  explain  the  matter. 

The  alarm  is  given  by  the  vibration  of  the  web,  much 
more  than  by  the  sight  of  the  captured  object.  A  very 
simple  experiment  will  prove  this.  I  lay  upon  a  Banded 
Epeira's  lime-threads  a  Locust  that  second  asphyxiated 
with  carbon  disulphide.  The  carcass  is  placed  in  front, 
or  behind,  or  at  either  side  of  the  Spider,  who  sits  move- 
less in  the  center  of  the  net.  If  the  test  is  to  be  applied 
to  a  species  with  a  daytime  hiding-place  amid  the  foliage, 
the  dead  Locust  is  laid  on  the  web,  more  or  less  near  the 
center,  no  matter  how. 

In  both  cases,  nothing  happens  at  first.  The  Epeira 
remains  in  her  motionless  attitude,  even  when  the  morsel 
is  at  a  short  distance  in  front  of  her.  She  is  indifferent 
to  the  presence  of  the  game,  does  not  seem  to  perceive 
it,  so  much  so  that  she  ends  by  wearing  out  my  patience. 
Then,  with  a  long  straw,  which  enables  me  to  conceal 
myself  slightly,  I  set  the  dead  insect  trembling. 

That  is  quite  enough.  The  Banded  Epeira  and  the 
Silky  Epeira  hasten  to  the  central  floor;  the  others 
come  down  from  the  branch;  all  go  to  the  Locust, 
swathe  him  with  tape,  treat  him,  in  short,  as  they  would 
treat  a  live  prey  captured  under  normal  conditions. 


THE  BANDED  EPEIRA  195 

It  took  the  shaking  of  the  web  to  decide  them  to  attack. 

Perhaps  the  gray  color  of  the  Locust  is  not  suffi- 
ciently conspicuous  to  attract  attention  by  itself.  Then 
let  us  try  red,  the  brightest  color  to  our  retina  and 
probably  also  to  the  Spiders'.  None  of  the  game  hunted 
by  the  Epeirse  being  clad  in  scarlet,  I  make  a  small 
bundle  out  of  red  wool,  a  bait  of  the  size  of  a  Locust. 
I  glue  it  to  the  web. 

My  stratagem  succeeds.  As  long  as  the  parcel  is  sta- 
tionary, the, Spider  is  not  roused;  but,  the  moment  it 
trembles,  stirred  by  my  straw,  she  runs  up  eagerly. 

There  are  silly  ones  who  just  touch  the  thing  witH 
their  legs  and,  without  further  enquiries,  swathe  it  in 
silk  after  the  manner  of  the  usual  game.  They  even  go 
so  far  as  to  dig  their  fangs  into  the  bait,  following  the 
rule  of  the  preliminary  poisoning.  Then  and  then  only 
the  mistake  is  recognized  and  the  tricked  Spider  retires 
and  does  not  come  back,  unless  it  be  long  afterwards, 
when  she  flings  the  lumbersome  object  out  of  the  web. 

There  are  also  clever  ones.  Like  the  others,  these 
hasten  to  the  red-woolen  lure,  which  my  straw  insidi- 
ously keeps  moving;  they  come  from  their  tent  among 
the  leaves  as  readily  as  from  the  center  of  the  web;  they 
explore  it  with  their  palpi  and  their  legs;  but,  soon 
perceiving  that  the  thing  is  valueless,  they  are  careful 
not  to  spend  their  silk  on  useless  bonds.  My  quivering 
bait  does  not  deceive  them.  It  is  flung  out  after  a  brief 
inspection. 

Still,  the  clever  ones,  like  the  silly  ones,  run  even  from 
a  distance,  from  their  leafy  ambush.  How  do  they 


196       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

know?  Certainly  not  by  sight.  Before  recognizing 
their  mistake,  they  have  to  hold  the  object  between  their 
legs  and  even  to  nibble  at  it  a  little.  They  are  extremely 
short-sighted.  At  a  hand's-breadth's  distance,  the  lifeless 
prey,  unable  to  shake  the  web,  remains  unperceived. 
Besides,  in  many  cases,  the  hunting  takes  place  in  the 
dense  darkness  of  the  night,  when  sight,  even  if  it  were 
good,  would  not  avail. 

If  the  eyes  are  insufficient  guides,  even  close  at  hand, 
how  will  it  be  when  the  prey  has  to  be  spied  from  afar? 
In  that  case,  an  intelligence  apparatus  for  long-distance 
work  becomes  indispensable.  We  have  no  difficulty  in 
detecting  the  apparatus. 

Let  us  look  attentively  behind  the  web  of  any  Epeira 
with  a  daytime  hiding-place:  we  shall  see  a  thread  that 
starts  from  the  center  of  the  network,  ascends  in  a  slant- 
ing line  outside  the  plane  of  the  web  and  ends  at  the 
ambush  where  the  Spider  lurks  all  day.  Except  at  the 
central  point,  there  is  no  connection  between  this  thread 
and  the  rest  of  the  work,  no  interweaving  with  the 
scaffolding-threads.  Free  of  impediment,  the  line  runs 
straight  from  the  center  of  the  net  to  the  ambush-tent. 
Its  length  averages  twenty-two  inches.  The  Angular 
Epeira,  settled  high  up  in  the  trees,  has  shown  me  some 
as  long  as  eight  or  nine  feet. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  this  slanting  line  is  a  foot- 
bridge which  allows  the  Spider  to  repair  hurriedly  to  the 
web,  when  summoned  by  urgent  business,  and  then, 
when  her  round  is  finished,  to  return  to  her  hut.  In 
fact,  it  is  the  road  which  I  see  her  follow,  in  going  and 


THE  BANDED  EPEIRA  197 

coming.  But  is  that  all?  No;  for,  if  the  Epeira  had  no 
aim  in  view  but  a  means  of  rapid  transit  between  her 
tent  and  the  net,  the  foot-bridge  would  be  fastened  to 
the  upper  edge  of  the  web.  The  journey  would  be 
shorter  and  the  slope  less  steep. 

Why,  moreover,  does  this  line  always  start  in  the 
center  of  the  sticky  network  and  nowhere  else?  Because 
that  is  the  point  where  the  spokes  meet  and,  therefore, 
the  common  center  of  vibration.  Anything  that  moves 
upon  the  web  sets  it  shaking.  All  then  that  is  needed 
is  a  thread  issuing  from  this  central  point  to  convey  to 
a  distance  the  news  of  a  prey  struggling  in  some  part 
or  other  of  the  net.  The  slanting  cord,  extending  out- 
side the  plane  of  the  web,  is  more  than  a  foot-bridge: 
it  is,  above  all,  a  signaling-apparatus,  a  telegraph-wire. 

Let  us  try  experiment.  I  place  a  Locust  on  the  net- 
work. Caught  in  the  sticky  toils,  he  plunges  about. 
Forthwith,  the  Spider  issues  impetuously  from  her  hut, 
comes  down  the  foot-bridge,  makes  a  rush  for  the 
Locust,  wraps  him  up  and  operates  on  him  according 
to  rule.  Soon  after,  she  hoists  him,  fastened  by  a  line 
to  her  spinneret,  and  drags  him  to  her  hiding-place, 
where  a  long  banquet  will  be  held.  So  far,  nothing  new : 
things  happen  as  usual. 

I  leave  the  Spider  to  mind  her  own  affairs  for  some 
days  before  I  interfere  with  her.  I  again  propose  to 
give  her  a  Locust ;  but  this  time  I  first  cut  the  signaling- 
thread  with  a  touch  of  the  scissors,  without  shaking  any 
part  of  the  edifice.  The  game  is  then  laid  on  the  web. 
Complete  success:  the  entangled  insect  struggles,  sets 


198       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

the  net  quivering;  the  Spider,  on  her  side,  does  not  stir, 
as  though  heedless  of  events. 

The  idea  might  occur  to  one  that,  in  this  business,  the 
Epeira  stays  motionless  in  her  cabin  since  she  is  pre- 
vented from  hurrying  down,  because  the  foot-bridge  is 
broken.  Let  us  undeceive  ourselves :  for  one  road  open 
to  her  there  are  a  hundred,  all  ready  to  bring  her  to  the 
place  where  her  presence  is  now  required.  The  network 
is  fastened  to  the  branches  by  a  host  of  lines,  all  of  them 
very  easy  to  cross.  Well,  the  Epeira  embarks  upon  none 
of  them,  but  remains  moveless  and  self-absorbed. 

Why?  Because  her  telegraph,  being  out  of  order,  no 
longer  tells  her  of  the  shaking  of  the  web.  The  captured 
prey  is  too  far  off  for  her  to  see  it ;  she  is  all  unwitting. 
A  good  hour  passes,  with  the  Locust  still  kicking,  the 
Spider  impassive,  myself  watching.  Nevertheless,  in  the 
end,  the  Epeira  wakes  up :  no  longer  feeling  the  signal- 
ing-thread, broken  by  my  scissors,  as  taut  as  usual  under 
her  legs,  she  comes  to  look  into  the  state  of  things.  The 
web  is  reached,  without  the  least  difficulty,  by  one  of  the 
lines  of  the  framework,  the  first  that  offers.  The  Locust 
is  then  perceived  and  forthwith  enswathed,  after  which 
the  signaling-thread  is  remade,  taking  the  place  of  the 
one  which  I  have  broken.  Along  this  road  the  Spider 
goes  home,  dragging  her  prey  behind  her. 

My  neighbor,  the  mighty  Angular  Epeira,  with  her 
telegraph-wire  nine  feet  long,  has  even  better  things  in 
store  for  me.  One  morning  I  find  her  web,  which  is 
now  deserted,  almost  intact,  a  proof  that  the  night's 
hunting  has  not  been  good.  The  animal  must  be  hungry. 


THE  BANDED  EPEIRA  199 

With  a  piece  of  game  for  a  bait,  I  hope  to  bring  her 
down  from  her  lofty  retreat. 

I  entangle  in  the  web  a  rare  morsel,  a  Dragon-fly,  who 
struggles  desperately  and  sets  the  whole  net  a-shaking. 
The  other,  up  above,  leaves  her  lurking-place  amid  the 
cypress- foliage,  strides  swiftly  down  along  her  telegraph- 
wire,  comes  to  the  Dragon-fly,  trusses  her  and  at  once 
climbs  home  again  by  the  same  road,  with  her  prize 
dangling  at  her  heels  by  a  thread.  The  final  sacrifice 
will  take  place  in  the  quiet  of  the  leafy  sanctuary. 

A  few  days  later  I  renew  my  experiment  under  the 
same  conditions,  but,  this  time,  I  first  cut  the  signaling- 
thread.  In  vain  I  select  a  large  Dragon-fly,  a  very  rest- 
less prisoner ;  in  vain  I  exert  my  patience :  the  Spider 
does  not  come  down  all  day.  Her  telegraph  being 
broken,  she  receives  no  notice  of  what  is  happening 
nine  feet  below.  The  entangled  morsel  remains  where 
it  lies,  not  despised,  but  unknown.  At  nightfall  the 
Epeira  leaves  her  cabin,  passes  over  the  ruins  of  her  web, 
finds  the  Dragon-fly  and  eats  him  on  the  spot,  after 
which  the  net  is  renewed. 

The  Epeirse,  who  occupy  a  distant  retreat  by  day, 
cannot  do  without  a  private  wire  that  keeps  them  in 
permanent  communication  with  the  deserted  web.  All 
of  them  have  one,  in  point  of  fact,  but  only  when  age 
comes,  age  prone  to  rest  and  to  long  slumbers.  In  their 
youth,  the  Epeirse,  who  are  then  very  wide  awake,  know 
nothing  of  the  art  of  telegraphy.  Besides,  their  web,  a 
short-lived  work  whereof  hardly  a  trace  remains  on  the 
morrow,  does  not  allow  of  this  kind  of  industry.  It  is' 


200       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

no  use  going  to  the  expense  of  a  signaling-apparatus  for 
a  ruined  snare  wherein  nothing  can  now  be  caught. 
Only  the  old  Spiders,  meditating  or  dozing  in  their  green 
tent,  are  warned  from  afar,  by  telegraph,  of  what  takes 
place  on  the  web. 

To  save  herself  from  keeping  a  close  watch  that  would 
degenerate  into  drudgery  and  to  remain  alive  to  events 
even  when  resting,  with  her  back  turned  on  the  net,  the 
ambushed  Spider  always  has  her  foot  upon  the  telegraph- 
wire.  Of  my  observations  on  this  subject,  let  me  relate 
the  following,  which  will  be  sufficient  for  our  purpose. 

An  Angular  Epeira,  with  a  remarkably  fine  belly,  has 
spun  her  web  between  two  laurustine-shrubs,  covering  a 
width  of  nearly  a  yard.  The  sun  beats  upon  the  snare- 
which  is  abandoned  long  before  dawn.  The  Spider  is 
in  her  day  manor,  a  resort  easily  discovered  by  following 
the  telegraph-wire.  It  is  a  vaulted  chamber  of  dead 
leaves,  joined  together  with  a  few  bits  of  silk.  The 
refuge  is  deep:  the  Spider  disappears  in  it  entirely,  all 
but  her  rounded  hind-quarters,  which  bar  the  entrance 
to  her  donjon. 

With  her  front  half  plunged  into  the  back  of  her 
hut,  the  Epeira  certainly  cannot  see  her  web.  Even  if 
she  had  good  sight,  instead  of  being  purblind,  her  posi- 
tion could  not  possibly  allow  her  to  keep  the  prey  in 
view.  Does  she  give  up  hunting  during  this  period  of 
bright  sunlight?  Not  at  all.  took  again. 

Wonderful !  One  of  her  hind-legs  is  stretched  outside 
the  leafy  cabin;  and  the  signaling-thread  ends  just  at 
the  tip  of  that  leg.  Whoso  has  not  seen  the  Epeira  in 


THE  BANDED  EPEIRA  201 

this  attitude,  with  her  hand,  so  to  speak,  on  the  telegraph- 
receiver,  knows  nothing  of  one  of  the  most  curious 
instances  of  animal  cleverness.  Let  any  game  appear 
upon  the  scene;  and  the  slumberer,  forthwith  aroused 
by  means  of  the  leg  receiving  the  vibrations,  hastens  up. 
A  Locust  whom  I  myself  lay  on  the  web  procures  her 
this  agreeable  shock  and  what  follows.  If  she  is  satisfied 
with  her  bag,  I  am  still  more  satisfied  with  what  I  have 
learnt. 

One  word  more.  The  web  is  often  shaken  by  the 
wind.  The  different  parts  of  the  framework,  tossed  and 
teased  by  the  eddying  air-currents,  cannot  fail  to  transmit 
their  vibrations  to  the  signaling-thread.  Nevertheless, 
the  Spider  does  not  quit  her  hut  and  remains  indifferent 
to  the  commotion  prevailing  in  the  net.  Her  line,  there- 
fore, is  something  better  than  a  bell-rope  that  pulls  and 
communicates  the  impulse  given:  it  is  a  telephone 
capable,  like  our  own,  of  transmitting  infinitesimal  waves 
of  sound.  Clutching  her  telephone-wire  with  a  toe,  the 
Spider  listens  with  her  leg;  she  perceives  the  innermost 
vibrations;  she  distinguishes  between  the  vibration  pro- 
ceeding from  a  prisoner  and  the  mere  shaking  caused 
by  the  wind. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   EUMENES 

A  WASP-LIKE  garb  of  motley  black  and  yellow;  a 
slender  and  graceful  figure;  wings  not  spread  out  flat, 
when  resting,  but  folded  lengthwise  in  two;  the  abdo- 
men a  sort  of  chemist's  retort,  which  swells  into  a  gourd 
and  is  fastened  to  the  thorax  by  a  long  neck,  first 
distending  into  a  pear,  then  shrinking  to  a  thread;  a 
leisurely  and  silent  flight;  lonely  habits.  There  we 
have  a  summary  sketch  of  the  Eumenes.  My  part  of 
the  country  possesses  two  species:  the  larger,  Eumenes 
Amedei,  Lep.,  measures  nearly  an  inch  in  length;  the 
other,  Eumenes  pomiformis,  Fabr.,1  is  a  reduction  of  the 
first  to  the  scale  of  one-half. 

Similar  in  form  and  coloring,  both  possess  a  like 
talent  for  architecture;  and  this  talent  is  expressed  in 
a  work  of  the  highest  perfection  which  charms  the  most 
untutored  eye.  Their  dwelling  is  a  masterpiece.  The 
Eumenes  follow  the  profession  of  arms,  which  is 

1 1  include  three  species  promiscuously  under  this  one  name,  that 
is  to  say,  Eumenes  pomiformis,  Fabr.,  E.  bipunctis,  Sauss.,  and 
E.,  dubius,  Sauss.  As  I  did  not  distinguish  between  them  in  my 
first  investigations,  which  date  a  very  long  time  back,  it  is  not 
possible  for  me  to  ascribe  to  each  of  them  its  respective  nest.  But 
their  habits  are  the  same,  for  which  reason  this  confusion  does  not 
injuriously  affect  the  order  of  ideas  in  the  present  chapter. — 
Author's  Note. 

202 


THE  EUMENES  203 

unfavorable  to  artistic  effort;  they  stab  a  prey  with 
their  sting;  they  pillage  and  plunder.  They  are  pre- 
datory Hymenoptera,  victualing  their  grubs  with  cater- 
pillars. It  will  be  interesting  to  compare  their  habits 
with  those  of  the  operator  on  the  Gray  Worm.1  Though 
the  quarry  —  caterpillars  in  either  case  —  remain  the 
same,  perhaps  instinct,  which  is  liable  to  vary  with  the 
species,  has  fresh  glimpses  in  store  for  us.  Besides,  the 
edifice  built  by  the  Eumenes  in  itself  deserves  inspection. 
The  Hunting- Wasps  whose  story  we  have  described 
in  former  volumes  are  wonderfully  well  versed  in  the 
art  of  wielding  the  lancet;  they  astound  us  with  their 
surgical  methods,  which  they  seem  to  have  learnt  from 
some  physiologist  who  allows  nothing  to  escape  him; 
but  those  skilful  slayers  have  no  merit  as  builders  of 
dwelling-houses.  What  is  their  home,  in  point  of  fact? 
An  underground  passage,  with  a  cell  at  the  end  of  it; 
a  gallery,  an  excavation,  a  shapeless  cave.  It  is  miner's 
work,  navvy's  work:  vigorous  sometimes,  artistic  never. 
They  use  the  pick-ax  for  loosening,  the  crowbar  for 
shifting,  the  rake  for  extracting  the  materials,  but  never 
the  trowel  for  laying.  Now  in  the  Eumenes  we  see  real 
masons,  who  build  their  houses  bit  by  bit  with  stone  and 
mortar  and  run  them  up  in  the  open,  either  on  the  firm 
rock  or  on  the  shaky  support  of  a  bough.  Hunting 
alternates  with  architecture ;  the  insect  is  a  Nimrod  or  a 
Vitruvius  2  by  turns. 

1  Ammophila  hirsuta,  who  hunts  the  Gray  Worm,  the  caterpillar 
of  Noctua  segetum,  the  Dart  or  Turnip  Moth. —  Translator's  Note. 

2  Marcus  Vitruvius  Pollio,  the  Roman  architect  and  engineer. — 
Translator's  Note. 


204       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

And,  first  of  all,  what  sites  do  these  builders  select  for 
their  homes?  Should  you  pass  some  little  garden- 
wall,  facing  south,  in  a  sun-scorched  corner,  look  at 
the  stones  that  are  not  covered  with  plaster,  look  at 
them  one  by  one,  especially  the  largest;  examine  the 
masses  of  boulders,  at  no  great  height  from  the  ground, 
where  the  fierce  rays  have  heated  them  to  the  tem- 
perature of  a  Turkish  bath;  and,  perhaps,  if  you  seek 
long  enough,  you  will  light  upon  the  structure  of  Eumenes 
Amedei.  The  insect  is  scarce  and  lives  apart;  a  meet- 
ing is  an  event  upon  which  we  must  not  count  with  too 
great  confidence.  It  is  an  African  species  and  loves  the 
heat  that  ripens  the  carob  and  the  date.  It  haunts  the 
sunniest  spots  and  selects  rocks  or  firm  stones  as  a 
foundation  for  its  nest.  Sometimes  also,  but  seldom,  it 
copies  the  Chalicodoma  of  the  Walls  *  and  builds  upon 
an  ordinary  pebble. 

Eumenes  pomiformis  is  much  more  common  and  is 
comparatively  indifferent  to  the  nature  of  the  foundation 
whereon  she  erects  her  cells.  She  builds  on  walls,  on 
isolated  stones,  on  the  wood  of  the  inner  surface  of 
half-closed  shutters;  or  else  she  adopts  an  aerial  base, 
the  slender  twig  of  a  shrub,  the  withered  sprig  of  a 
plant  of  some  sort.  Any  form  of  support  serves  her 
purpose.  Nor  does  she  trouble  about  shelter.  Less 
chilly  than  her  African  cousin,  she  does  not  shun  the 
unprotected  spaces  exposed  to  every  wind  that  blows. 

When  erected  on  a  horizontal  surface,  where  nothing 
interferes  with  it,  the  structure  of  Eumenes  Amedei  is  a 
1  Or  Mason-bee.—  Translator's  Note. 


THE  EUMENES  205 

symmetrical  cupola,  a  spherical  skull-cap,  with,  at  the 
top,  a  narrow  passage  just  wide  enough  for  the  insect, 
and  surmounted  by  a  neatly  funneled  neck.  It  suggests 
the  round  hut  of  the  Eskimo  or  of  the  ancient  Gael, 
with  its  central  chimney.  Two  centimeters  and  a  half,1 
more  or  less,  represent  the  diameter,  and  two  centi- 
meters 2  the  height.  When  the  support  is  a  perpendicu- 
lar plane,  the  building  still  retains  the  domed  shape,  but 
the  entrance-  and  exit-funnel  opens  at  the  side,  upwards. 
The  floor  of  this  apartment  calls  for  no  labor :  it  is  sup- 
plied direct  by  the  bare  stone. 

Having  chosen  the  site,  the  builder  erects  a  circular 
fence  about  three  millimeters3  thick.  The  materials 
consist  of  mortar  and  small  stones.  The  insect  selects 
its  stone-quarry  in  some  well-trodden  path,  on  some 
neighboring  road,  at  the  driest,  hardest  spots.  With 
its  mandibles,  it  scrapes  together  a  small  quantity  of 
dust  and  saturates  it  with  saliva  until  the  whole  becomes 
a  regular  hydraulic  mortar  which  soon  sets  and  is  no 
longer  susceptible  to  water.  The  Mason-bees  have 
shown  us  a  similar  exploitation  of  the  beaten  paths  and 
of  the  road-mender's  macadam.  All  these  open-air 
builders,  all  these  erectors  of  monuments  exposed  to 
wind  and  weather  require  an  exceedingly  dry  stone-dust ; 
otherwise  the  material,  already  moistened  with  water, 
would  not  properly  absorb  the  liquid  that  is  to  give  it 
cohesion;  and  the  edifice  would  soon  be  wrecked  by 
the  rains.  They  possess  the  sense  of  discrimination  of 

1 .97  inch. —  Translator's  Note. 
2  .78  inch.—  Translator's  Note. 
3.n8  inch.—  Translator's  Note. 


206       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

the  plasterer,  who  rejects  plaster  injured  by  damp. 
We  shall  see  presently  how  the  insects  that  build  under 
shelter  avoid  this  laborious  macadam-scraping  and  give 
the  preference  to  fresh  earth  already  reduced  to  a  paste 
by  its  own  dampness.  When  common  lime  answers  our 
purpose,  we  do  not  trouble  about  Roman  cement.  Now 
Eumenes  Amedei  requires  a  first-class  cement,  even 
better  than  that  of  the  Chalicodoma  of  the  Walls,  for 
the  work,  when  finished,  does  not  receive  the  thick 
covering  wherewith  the  Mason-bee  protects  her  cluster 
of  cells.  And  therefore  the  cupola-builder,  as  often  as 
she  can,  uses  the  highway  as  her  stone-pit. 

With  the  mortar,  flints  are  needed.  These  are  bits 
of  gravel  of  an  almost  unvarying  size  —  that  of  a  pepper- 
corn —  but  of  a  shape  and  kind  differing  greatly,  accord- 
ing to  the  places  worked.  Some  are  sharp-cornered, 
with  facets  determined  by  chance  fractures;  some  are 
round,  polished  by  friction  under  water.  Some  are  of 
limestone,  others  of  silicic  matter.  The  favorite  stones, 
when  the  neighborhood  of  the  nest  permits,  are  little 
nodules  of  quartz,  smooth  and  semitransparent.  These 
are  selected  with  minute  care.  The  insect  weighs  them, 
so  to  say,  measures  them  with  the  compass  of  its 
mandibles  and  does  not  accept  them  until  after  recog- 
nizing in  them  the  requisite  qualities  of  size  and  hardness. 

A  circular  fence,  we  were  saying,  is  begun  on  the  bare 
rock.  Before  the  mortar  sets,  which  does  not  take  long, 
the  mason  sticks  a  few  stones  into  the  soft  mass,  as 
the  work  advances.  She  dabs  them  half-way  into  the 
cement,  so  as  to  leave  them  jutting  out  to  a  large  extent, 


THE  EUMENES  207 

without  penetrating  to  the  inside,  where  the  wall  must 
remain  smooth  for  the  sake  of  the  larva's  comfort.  If 
necessary,  a  little  plaster  is  added,  to  tone  down  the  inner 
protuberances.  The  solidly  embedded  stonework  alter- 
nates with  the  pure  mortarwork,  of  which  each  fresh 
course  receives  its  facing  of  tiny  encrusted  pebbles.  As 
the  edifice  is  raised,  the  builder  slopes  the  construction 
a  little  towards  the  center  and  fashions  the  curve  which 
will  give  the  spherical  shape.  We  employ  arched  cen- 
terings to  support  the  masonry  of  a  dome  while  building : 
the  Eumenes,  more  daring  than  we,  erects  her  cupola 
without  any  scaffolding. 

A  round  orifice  is  contrived  at  the  summit;  and,  on 
this  orifice,  rises  a  funneled  mouthpiece  built  of  pure 
cement.  It  might  be  the  graceful  neck  of  some  Etruscan 
vase.  When  the  cell  is  victualed  and  the  egg  laid, 
this  mouthpiece  is  closed  with  a  cement  plug;  and  in 
this  plug  is  set  a  little  pebble,  one  alone,  no  more: 
the  ritual  never  varies.  This  work  of  rustic  architecture 
has  naught  to  fear  from  the  inclemency  of  the  weather; 
it  does  not  yield  to  the  pressure  of  the  fingers ;  it  resists 
the  knife  that  attempts  to  remove  it  without  breaking 
it.  Its  nipple  shape  and  the  bits  of  gravel  wherewith 
it  bristles  all  over  the  outside  remind  one  of  certain 
cromlechs  of  olden  time,  of  certain  tumuli  whose  domes 
are  strewn  with  Cyclopean  stones. 

Such  is  the  appearance  of  the  edifice  when  the  cell 
stands  alone;  but  the  Hymenopteron  nearly  always 
fixes  other  domes  against  her  first,  to  the  number  of 
five,  six,  or  more.  This  shortens  the  labor  by  allowing 


208       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

her  to  use  the  same  partition  for  two  adjoining  rooms. 
The  original  elegant  symmetry  is  lost  and  the  whole 
now  forms  a  cluster  which,  at  first  sight,  appears  to  be 
merely  a  clod  of  dry  mud,  sprinkled  with  tiny  pebbles. 
But  let  us  examine  the  shapeless  mass  more  closely  and 
we  shall  perceive  the  number  of  chambers  composing 
the  habitation  with  the  funneled  mouths,  each  quite 
distinct  and  each  furnished  with  its  gravel  stopper  set 
in  the  cement. 

The  Chalicodoma  of  the  Walls  employs  the  same 
building  methods  as  Eumenes  Amedei:  in  the  courses 
of  cement  she  fixes,  on  the  outside,  small  stones  of 
minor  bulk.  Her  work  begins  by  being  a  turret  of 
rustic  art,  not  without  a  certain  prettiness;  then,  when 
the  cells  are  placed  side  by  side,  the  whole  construction 
degenerates  into  a  lump  governed  apparently  by  no 
architectural  rule.  Moreover,  the  Mason-bee  covers 
her  mass  of  cells  with  a  thick  layer  of  cement,  which 
conceals  the  original  rock  work  edifice.  The  Eumenes 
does  not  resort  to  this  general  coating:  her  building 
is  too  strong  to  need  it;  she  leaves  the  pebbly  facings 
uncovered,  as  well  as  the  entrances  to  the  cells.  The 
two  sorts  of  nests,  although  constructed  of  similar  ma- 
terials, are  therefore  easily  distinguished. 

The  Eumenes'  cupola  is  the  work  of  an  artist;  and 
the  artist  would  be  sorry  to  cover  his  masterpiece  with 
whitewash.  I  crave  forgiveness  for  a  suggestion  which 
I  advance  with  all  the  reserve  befitting  so  delicate  a 
subject.  Would  it  not  be  possible  for  the  cromlech- 
builder  to  take  a  pride  in  her  work,  to  look  upon  it 


THE  EUMENES  209 

with  some  affection  and  to  feel  gratified  by  this  evidence 
of  her  cleverness?  Might  there  not  be  an  insect  science 
of  aesthetics?  I  seem  at  least  to  catch  a  glimpse,  in 
the  Eumenes,  of  a  propensity  to  beautify  her  work. 
The  nest  must  be,  before  all,  a  solid  habitation,  an 
inviolable  stronghold;  but,  should  ornament  intervene 
without  jeopardizing  the  power  of  resistance,  will  the 
worker  remain  indifferent  to  it?  Who  could  say? 

Let  us  set  forth  the  facts.  The  orifice  at  the  top, 
if  left  as  a  mere  hole,  would  suit  the  purpose  quite  as 
well  as  an  elaborate  door:  the  insect  would  lose  nothing 
in  regard  to  facilities  for  coming  and  going  and  would 
gain  by  shortening  the  labor.  Yet  we  find,  on  the 
contrary,  the  mouth  of  an  amphora,  gracefully  curved, 
worthy  of  a  potter's  wheel.  A  choice  cement  and 
careful  work  are  necessary  for  the  confection  of  its 
slender,  funneled  shaft.  Why  this  nice  finish,  if  the 
builder  be  wholly  absorbed  in  the  solidity  of  her  work? 

Here  is  another  detail:  among  the  bits  of  gravel 
employed  for  the  outer  covering  of  the  cupola,  grains 
of  quartz  predominate.  They  are  polished  and  trans- 
lucent; they  glitter  slightly  and  please  the  eye.  Why 
are  these  little  pebbles  preferred  to  chips  of  lime-stone, 
when  both  materials  are  found  in  equal  abundance  around 
the  nest? 

A  yet  more  remarkable  feature :  we  find  pretty  often, 
encrusted  on  the  dome,  a  few  tiny,  empty  snail-shells, 
bleached  by  the  sun.  The  species  usually  selected  by 
the  Eumenes  is  -  one  of  the  smaller  Helices  —  Helix 
strigata  —  frequent  on  our  parched  slopes.  I  have  seen 


210       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

nests  where  this  Helix  took  the  place  of  pebbles  almost 
entirely.  They  were  like  boxes  made  of  shells,  the  work 
of  a  patient  hand. 

A  comparison  offers  here.  Certain  Australian  birds, 
notably  the  Bower-birds,  build  themselves  covered  walks, 
or  playhouses,  with  interwoven  twigs,  and  decorate  the 
two  entrances  to  the  portico  by  strewing  the  threshold 
with  anything  that  they  can  find  in  the  shape  of 
glittering,  polished,  or  bright-colored  objects.  Every 
door-sill  is  a  cabinet  of  curiosities  where  the  collector 
gathers  smooth  pebbles,  variegated  shells,  empty  snail- 
shells,  parrot's  feathers,  bones  that  have  come  to  look 
like  sticks  of  ivory.  The  odds  and  ends  mislaid  by  man 
find  a  home  in  the  bird's  museum,  where  we  see  pipe- 
stems,  metal  buttons,  strips  of  cotton  stuff  and  stone 
ax-heads. 

The  collection  at  either  entrance  to  the  bower  is  large 
enough  to  fill  half  a  bushel.  As  these  objects  are  of 
no  use  to  the  bird,  its  only  motive  for  accumulating 
them  must  be  an  art-lover's  hobby.  Our  common 
Magpie  has  similar  tastes :  any  shiny  thing  that  he  conies 
upon  he  picks  up,  hides  and  hoards. 

Well,  the  Eumenes,  who  shares  this  passion  for  bright 
pebbles  and  empty  snail-shells,  is  the  Bower-bird  of 
the  insect  world;  but  she  is  a  more  practical  collector, 
knows  how  to  combine  the  useful  and  the  ornamental 
and  employs  her  finds  in  the  construction  of  her  nest, 
which  is  both  a  fortress  and  a  museum.  When  she 
finds  nodules  of  translucent  quartz,  she  rejects  every- 
thing else :  the  building  will  be  all  the  prettier  for  them. 


THE  EUMENES  211 

When  she  comes  across  a  little  white  shell,  she  hastens 
to  beautify  her  dome  with  it;  should  fortune  smile 
and  empty  snail-shells  abound,  she  encrusts  the  whole 
fabric  with  them,  until  it  becomes  the  supreme  expres- 
sion of  her  artistic  taste.  Is  this  so?  Or  is  it  not  so? 
Who  shall  decide? 

The  nest  of  Eumenes  pomiformis  is  the  size  of  an 
average  cherry  and  constructed  of  pure  mortar,  without 
the  least  outward  pebblework.  Its  shape  is  exactly 
similar  to  that  which  we  have  just  described.  When 
built  upon  a  horizontal  base  of  sufficient  extent,  it  is 
a  dome  with  a  central  neck,  funneled  like  the  mouth 
of  an  urn.  But  when  the  foundation  is  reduced  to  a 
mere  point,  as  on  the  twig  of  a  shrub,  the  nest  becomes 
a  spherical  capsule,  always,  of  course,  surmounted  by 
a  neck.  It  is  then  a  miniature  specimen  of  exotic 
pottery,  a  paunchy  alcarraza.  Its  thickness  is  very 
slight,  less  than  that  of  a  sheet  of  paper;  it  crushes 
under  the  least  effort  of  the  fingers.  The  outside  is 
not  quite  even.  It  displays  wrinkles  and  seams,  due 
to  the  different  courses  of  mortar,  or  else  knotty  pro- 
tuberances distributed  almost  concentrically. 

Both  Hymenoptera  accumulate  caterpillars  in  their 
coffers,  whether  domes  or  jars.  Let  us  give  an  abstract 
of  the  bill  of  fare.  These  documents,  for  all  their  dry- 
ness,  possess  a  value;  they  will  enable  whoso  cares 
to  interest  himself  in  the  Eumenes  to  perceive  to  what 
extent  instinct  varies  the  diet,  according  to  the  place 
and  season.  The  food  is  plentiful,  but  lacks  variety. 
It  consists  of  tiny  caterpillars,  by  which  I  mean  the 


212       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

grubs  of  small  Butterflies.  We  learn  this  from  the 
structure,  for  we  observe  the  prey  selected  by  either 
Hymenopteran  the  usual  caterpillar  organism.  The 
body  is  composed  of  twelve  segments,  not  including 
the  head.  The  first  three  have  true  legs,  the  next  two 
are  legless,  then  come  two  segments  with  prolegs,  two 
legless  segments  and,  lastly,  a  terminal  segment  with 
prolegs.  It  is  exactly  the  same  structure  which  we  saw 
in  the  Ammophila's  Gray  Worm. 

My  old  notes  give  the  following  description  of  the 
caterpillars  found  in  the  nest  of  Eumenes  Amedei: 
"  a  pale  green  or,  less  often,  a  yellowish  body,  covered 
with  short  white  hairs;  a  head  wider  than  the  front 
segment,  dead-black  and  also  bristling  with  hairs. 
Length:  16  to  18  millimeters;1  width:  about  3  milli- 
meters." 2  A  quarter  of  a  century  and  more  has  elapsed 
since  I  jotted  down  this  descriptive  sketch;  and  to-day, 
at  Serignan,  I  find  in  the  Eumenes'  larder  the  same 
game  which  I  noticed  long  ago  at  Carpentras.  Time 
and  distance  have  not  altered  the  nature  of  the  provisions. 

The  number  of  morsels  served  for  the  meal  of  each 
larva  interests  us  more  than  the  quality.  In  the  cells 
of  Eumenes  Amedei,  I  find  sometimes  five  caterpillars 
and  sometimes  ten,  which  means  a  difference  of  a 
hundred  per  cent,  in  the  quantity  of  the  food,  for  the 
morsels  are  of  exactly  the  same  size  in  both  cases.  Why 
this  unequal  supply,  which  gives  a  double  portion  to 
one  larva  and  a  single  portion  to  another?  The  diners 

1 .63  to  7  inch. —  Translator's  Note. 
2.ia  inch. —  Translator's  Note. 


THE  EUMENES  213 

have  the  same  appetite:  what  one  nursling  demands  a 
second  must  demand,  unless  we  have  here  a  different 
menu,  according  to  the  sexes.  In  the  perfect  stage 
the  males  are  smaller  than  the  females,  are  hardly  half 
as  much  in  weight  or  volume.  The  amount  of  victuals, 
therefore,  required  to  bring  them  to  their  final  develop- 
ment may  be  reduced  by  one-half.  In  that  case,  the 
well-stocked  cells  belong  to  females;  the  others,  more 
meagerly  supplied,  belong  to  males. 

But  the  egg  is  laid  when  the  provisions  are  stored ; 
and  this  egg  has  a  determined  sex,  though  the  most 
minute  examination  is  not  able  to  discover  the  differences 
which  will  decide  the  hatching  of  a  female  or  a  male. 
We  are  therefore  needs  driven  to  this  strange  con- 
clusion: the  mother  knows  beforehand  the  sex  of  the 
egg  which  she  is  about  to  lay;  and  this  knowledge 
allows  her  to  fill  the  larder  according  to  the  appetite 
of  the  future  grub.  What  a  strange  world,  so  wholly 
different  from  ours !  We  fall  back  upon  a  special  sense 
to  explain  the  Ammophila's  hunting;  what  can  we  fall 
back  upon  to  account  for  this  intuition  of  the  future? 
Can  the  theory  of  chances  play  a  part  in  the  hazy 
problem?  If  nothing  is  logically  arranged  with  a  fore- 
seen object,  how  is  this  clear  vision  of  the  invisible  ac- 
quired ? 

The  capsules  of  Eumenes  pomiformis  are  literally 
crammed  with  game.  It  is  true  that  the  morsels  are 
very  small.  My  notes  speak  of  fourteen  green  cater- 
pillars in  one  cell  and  sixteen  in  a  second  cell.  I  have 
no  other  information  about  the  integral  diet  of  this  Wasp, 


214       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

whom  I  have  neglected  somewhat,  preferring  to  study  her 
cousin,  the  builder  of  rockwork  domes.  As  the  two  sexes 
differ  in  size,  although  to  a  lesser  degree  than  in  the  case 
of  Eumenes  Amedei,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  those  two 
well-filled  cells  belonged  to  females  and  that  the  males' 
cells  must  have  a  less  sumptuous  table.  Not  having  seen 
for  myself,  I  am  content  to  set  down  this  mere  suspicion. 

What  I  have  seen  and  often  seen  is  the  pebbly 
nest,  with  the  larva  inside  and  the  provisions  partly 
consumed.  To  continue  the  rearing  at  home  and  follow 
my  charge's  progress  from  day  to  day  was  a  business 
which  I  could  not  resist;  besides,  as  far  as  I  was  able 
to  see,  it  was  easily  managed.  I  had  had  some  practice 
in  this  foster-father's  trade;  my  association  with  the 
Bembex,  the  Ammophila,  the  Sphex  *  and  many  others 
had  turned  me  into  a  passable  insect-rearer.  I  was 
no  novice  in  the  art  of  dividing  an  old  pen-box  into 
compartments  in  which  I  laid  a  bed  of  sand  and,  on 
this  bed,  the  larva  and  her  provisions  delicately  removed 
from  the  maternal  cell.  Success  was  almost  certain  at 
each  attempt :  I  used  to  watch  the  larvse  at  their  meals, 
I  saw  my  nurslings  grow  up  and  spin  their  cocoons. 
Relying  upon  the  experience  thus  gained,  I  reckoned 
upon  success  in  raising  my  Eumenes. 

The  results,  however,  in  no  way  answered  to  my 
expectations.  All  my  endeavors  failed;  and  the  larva 
allowed  itself  to  die  a  piteous  death  without  touching 
its  provisions. 

I  ascribed  my  reverse  to  this,  that  and  the  other 

i  Three  species  of  Digger-wasps.—  Translator's  Note. 


THE  EUMENES  215 

cause:  perhaps  I  had  injured  the  frail  grub  when 
demolishing  the  fortress;  a  splinter  of  masonry  had 
bruised  it  when  I  forced  open  the  hard  dome  with 
my  knife;  a  too  sudden  exposure  to  the  sun  had  sur- 
prised it  when  I  withdrew  it  from  the  darkness  of  its 
cell;  the  open  air  might  have  dried  up  its  moisture. 
I  did  the  best  I  could  to  remedy  all  these  probable 
reasons  of  failure.  I  went  to  work  with  every  possible 
caution  in  breaking  open  the  home;  I  cast  the  shadow 
of  my  body  over  the  nest,  to  save  the  grub  from  sun- 
stroke ;  I  at  once  transferred  larva  and  provisions  into  a 
glass  tube  and  placed  this  tube  in  a  box  which  I  carried 
in  my  hand,  to  minimize  the  jolting  on  the  journey. 
Nothing  was  of  avail:  the  larva,  when  taken  from  its 
dwelling,  always  allowed  itself  to  pine  away. 

For  a  long  time  I  persisted  in  explaining  my  want  of 
success  by  the  difficulties  attending  the  removal. 
Eumenes  rAmedei's  cell  is  a  strong  casket  which  cannot 
be  forced  without  sustaining  a  shock;  and  the  demoli- 
tion of  a  work  of  this  kind  entails  such  varied  accidents 
that  we  are  always  liable  to  think  that  the  worm  has 
been  bruised  by  the  wreckage.  As  for  carrying  home 
the  nest  intact  on  its  support,  with  a  view  to  opening  it 
with  greater  care  than  is  permitted  by  a  rough-and-ready 
operation  in  the  fields,  that  is  out  of  the  question:  the 
nest  nearly  always  stands  on  an  immovable  rock  or  on 
some  big  stone  forming  part  of  a  wall.  If  I  failed  in  my 
attempts  at  rearing,  it  was  because  the  larva  had  suffered 
when  I  was  breaking  up  her  house.  The  reason  seemed 
a  good  one ;  and  I  let  it  go  at  that. 


216       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

In  the  end,  another  idea  occurred  to  me  and  made 
me  doubt  whether  my  rebuffs  were  always  due  to  clumsy 
accidents.  The  Eumenes'  cells  are  crammed  with  game : 
there  are  ten  caterpillars  in  the  cell  of  Eumenes  Amedei 
and  fifteen  in  that  of  Eumenes  pomiformis.  These 
caterpillars,  stabbed  no  doubt,  but  in  a  manner  unknown 
to  me,  are  not  entirely  motionless.  The  mandibles 
seize  upon  what  is  presented  to  them,  the  body  buckles 
and  unbuckles,  the  hinder  half  lashes  out  briskly  when 
stirred  with  the  point  of  a  needle.  At  what  spot  is 
the  egg  laid  amid  that  swarming  mass,  where  thirty 
mandibles  can  make  a  hole  in  it,  where  a  hundred  and 
twenty  pairs  of  legs  can  tear  it?  When  the  victuals  con- 
sist of  a  single  head  of  game,  these  perils  do  not  exist ; 
and  the  egg  is  laid  on  the  victim  not  at  hazard,  but  upon 
a  judiciously  chosen  spot.  Thus,  for  instance,  Ammo- 
phila  hirsuta  fixes  hers,  by  one  end,  cross-wise,  on  the 
Gray  Worm,  on  the  side  of  the  first  prolegged  segment. 
The  eggs  hang  over  the  caterpillar's  back,  away  from 
the  legs,  whose  proximity  might  be  dangerous.  The 
worm,  moreover,  stung  in  the  greater  number  of  its 
nerve-centers,  lies  on  one  side,  motionless  and  incapable 
of  bodily  contortions  or  sudden  jerks  of  its  hinder  seg- 
ments. If  the  mandibles  try  to  snap,  if  the  legs  give  a 
kick  or  two,  they  find  nothing  in  front  of  them:  the 
Ammophila's  egg  is  at  the  opposite  side.  The  tiny  grub 
is  thus  able,  as  soon  as  it  hatches,  to  dig  into  the  giant's 
belly  in  full  security. 

How  different  are  the  conditions  in  the  Eumenes'  cell. 
The  caterpillars  are  imperfectly  paralyzed,  perhaps  be- 


THE  EUMENES  217 

cause  they  have  received  but  a  single  stab ;  they  toss  about 
when  touched  with  a  pin;  they  are  bound  to  wriggle 
when  bitten  by  the  larva.  If  the  egg  is  laid  on  one  of 
them,  the  first  morsel  will,  I  admit,  be  consumed  without 
danger,  on  condition  that  the  point  of  attack  be  wisely 
chosen ;  but  there  remain  others  which  are  not  deprived  of 
every  means  of  defence.  Let  a  movement  take  place  in 
the  mass;  and  the  egg,  shifted  from  the  upper  layer,  will 
tumble  into  a  pitfall  of  legs  and  mandibles;  and  this  least 
thing  has  every  chance  of  being  brought  about  in  the  dis- 
ordered heap  of  caterpillars.  The  egg,  a  tiny  cylinder, 
transparent  as  crystal,  is  extremely  delicate:  a  touch 
withers  it,  the  least  pressure  crushes  it. 

No,  its  place  is  not  in  the  mass  of  provisions,  for  the 
caterpillars,  I  repeat,  are  not  sufficiently  harmless. 
Their  paralysis  is  incomplete,  as  is  proved  by  their  con- 
tortions when  I  irritate  them  and  shown,  on  the  other 
hand,  by  a  very  important  fact.  I  have  sometimes 
taken  from  Eumenes  Amedei's  cell  a  few  heads  of 
game  half  transformed  into  chrysalids.  It  is  evident 
that  the  transformation  was  effected  in  the  cell  itself 
and,  therefore,  after  the  operation  which  the  Wasp 
had  performed  upon  them.  Whereof  does  this  operation 
consist?  I  cannot  say  precisely,  never  having  seen  the 
huntress  at  work.  The  sting  most  certainly  has  played 
its  part;  but  where?  And  how  often?  This  is  what 
we  do  not  know.  What  we  are  able  to  declare  is  that 
the  torpor  is  not  very  deep,  inasmuch  as  the  patient 
sometimes  retains  enough  vitality  to  shed  its  skin  and 
become  a  chrysalid.  Everything  thus  tends  to  make  us 


218       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

ask  by  what  stratagem  the  egg  is  shielded  from  danger. 

This  stratagem  I  longed  to  discover;  I  would  not  be 
put  off  by  the  scarcity  of  nests,  by  the  irksomeness  of 
the  searches,  by  the  risk  of  sunstroke,  by  the  time  taken 
up,  by  the  vain  breaking  open  of  unsuitable  cells;  I 
meant  to  see  and  I  saw. 

Here  is  my  method :  with  the  point  of  a  knife  and  a 
pair  of  nippers,  I  make  a  side  opening,  a  window,  be- 
neath the  dome  of  Eumenes  Amedei  and  Eumenes 
pomiformis.  I  work  with  the  greatest  care,  so  as  not 
to  injure  the  recluse.  Formerly  I  attacked  the  cupola 
from  the  top,  now  I  attack  it  from  the  side.  I  stop  when 
the  breach  is  large  enough  to  allow  me  to  see  the  state 
of  things  within. 

What  is  this  state  of  things?  I  pause  to  give  the 
reader  time  to  reflect  and  to  think  out  for  himself  a 
means  of  safety  that  will  protect  the  egg  and  after- 
wards the  grub  in  the  perilous  conditions  which  I 
have  set  forth.  Seek,  think  and  contrive,  such  of  you 
as  have  inventive  minds.  Have  you  guessed  it?  Do 
you  give  it  up  ?  I  may  as  well  tell  you. 

The  egg  is  not  laid  upon  the  provisions;  it  is  hung 
from  the  top  of  the  cupola  by  a  thread  which  vies  with 
that  of  a  Spider's  web  for  slenderness.  The  dainty  cylin- 
der quivers  and  swings  to  and  fro  at  the  least  breath;  it 
reminds  me  of  the  famous  pendulum  suspended  from 
the  dome  of  the  Pantheon  to  prove  the  rotation  of  the 
earth.  The  victuals  are  heaped  up  underneath. 

Second  act  of  this  wondrous  spectacle.  In  order  to 
witness  it,  we  must  open  a  window  in  cell  upon  cell 


THE  EUMENES  219 

until  fortune  deigns  to  smile  upon  us.  The  larva  is 
hatched  and  already  fairly  large.  Like  the  egg,  it  hangs 
perpendicularly,  by  the  rear,  from  the  ceiling;  but  the 
suspensory  cord  has  gained  considerably  in  length  and 
consists  of  the  original  thread  eked  out  by  a  sort  of 
ribbon.  The  grub  is  at  dinner:  head  downwards,  it  is 
digging  into  the  limp  belly  of  one  of  the  caterpillars. 
I  touch  up  the  game  that  is  still  intact  with  a  straw. 
The  caterpillars  grow  restless.  The  grub  forthwith 
retires  from  the  fray.  And  how?  Marvel  is  added  to 
marvels:  what  I  took  for  a  flat  cord,  for  a  ribbon,  at 
the  lower  end  of  the  suspensory  thread,  is  a  sheath,  a 
scabbard,  a  sort  of  ascending  gallery  wherein  the  larva 
crawls  backwards  and  makes  its  way  up.  The  cast  shell 
of  the  egg,  retaining  its  cylindrical  form  and  perhaps 
lengthened  by  a  special  operation  on  the  part  of  the  new- 
born grub,  forms  this  safety-channel.  At  the  least  sign 
of  danger  in  the  heap  of  caterpillars,  the  larva  retreats 
into  its  sheath  and  climbs  back  to  the  ceiling,  where  the 
swarming  rabble  cannot  reach  it.  When  peace  is  re- 
stored, it  slides  down  its  case  and  returns  to  table,  with 
its  head  over  the  viands  and  its  rear  upturned  and  ready 
to  withdraw  in  case  of  need. 

Third  and  last  act.  Strength  has  come;  the  larva  is 
brawny  enough  not  to  dread  the  movements  of  the  cater- 
pillars' bodies.  Besides,  the  caterpillars,  mortified  by 
fasting  and  weakened  by  a  prolonged  torpor,  become 
more  and  more  incapable  of  defense.  The  perils  of  the 
tender  babe  are  succeeded  by  the  security  of  the  lusty 
stripling;  and  the  grub,  henceforth  scorning  its  sheathed 


220       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

lift,  lets  itself  drop  upon  the  game  that  remains.  And 
thus  the  banquet  ends  in  normal  fashion. 

This  is  what  I  saw  in  the  nests  of  both  species  of  the 
Eumenes  and  that  is  what  I  showed  to  friends  who 
were  even  more  surprised  than  I  by  these  ingenious 
tactics.  The  egg  hanging  from  the  ceiling,  at  a  distance 
from  the  provisions,  has  naught  to  fear  from  the  cater- 
pillars, which  flounder  about  below.  The  new-hatched 
larva,  whose  suspensory  cord  is  lengthened  by  the 
sheath  of  the  egg,  reaches  the  game  and  takes  a  first 
cautious  bite  at  it.  If  there  be  danger,  it  climbs  back 
to  the  ceiling  by  retreating  inside  the  scabbard.  This 
explains  the  failure  of  my  earlier  attempts.  Not  know- 
ing of  the  safety-thread,  so  slender  and  so  easily  broken, 
I  gathered  at  one  time  the  egg,  at  another  the  young 
larva,  after  my  inroads  at  the  top  had  caused  them  to 
fall  into  the  middle  of  the  live  victuals.  Neither  of  them 
was  able  to  thrive  when  brought  into  direct  contact  with 
the  dangerous  game. 

If  any  one  of  my  readers,  to  whom  I  appealed  just 
now,  has  thought  out  something  better  than  the 
Eumenes'  invention,  I  beg  that  he  will  let  me  know: 
there  is  a  curious  parallel  to  be  drawn  between  the  in- 
spirations of  reason  and  the  inspirations  of  instinct. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   OSMI/E 

Their  Habits 

FEBRUARY  has  its  sunny  days,  heralding  spring,  to  which 
rude  winter  will  reluctantly  yield  place.  In  snug  corners, 
among  the  rocks,  the  great  spurge  of  our  district,  the 
characias  of  the  Greeks,  the  jusclo  of  the  Provencals, 
begins  to  lift  its  drooping  inflorescence  and  discreetly 
opens  a  few  somber  flowers.  Here  the  first  Midges  of 
the  year  will  come  to  slake  their  thirst.  By  the  time  that 
the  tip  of  the  stalks  reaches  the  perpendicular,  the  worst 
of  the  cold  weather  will  be  over. 

Another  eager  one,  the  almond-tree,  risking  the  loss 
of  its  fruit,  hastens  to  echo  these  preludes  to  the  festival 
of  the  sun,  preludes  which  are  too  often  treacherous. 
A  few  days  of  soft  skies  and  it  becomes  a  glorious  dome 
of  white  flowers,  each  twinkling  with  a  roseate  eye.  The 
country,  which  still  lacks  green,  seems  dotted  everywhere 
with  white-satin  pavilions.  'T  would  be  a  callous  heart 
indeed  that  could  resist  the  magic  of  this  awakening. 

The  insect  nation  is  represented  at  these  rites  by  a 
few  of  its  more  zealous  members.  There  is  first  of  all 
the  Honey-bee,  the  sworn  enemy  of  strikes,  who  profits 
by  the  least  lull  of  winter  to  find  out  if  some  rosemary 


222       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

or  other  is  not  beginning  to  open  somewhere  near  the 
hive.  The  droning  of  the  busy  swarms  fills  the  flowery 
vault,  while  a  snow  of  petals  falls  softly  to  the  foot  of 
the  tree. 

Together  with  the  population  of  harvesters  there 
mingles  another,  less  numerous,  of  mere  drinkers,  whose 
nesting-time  has  not  yet  begun.  This  is  the  colony  of 
the  Osmiae,  those  exceedingly  pretty  solitary  bees,  with 
their  copper-colored  skin  and  bright-red  fleece.  Two 
species  have  come  hurrying  up  to  take  part  in  the  joys 
of  the  almond-tree:  first,  the  Horned  Osmia,  clad  in 
black  velvet  on  the  head  and  breast,  with  red  velvet  on 
the  abdomen ;  and,  a  little  later,  the  Three-horned  Osmia, 
whose  livery  must  be  red  and  red  only.  These  are  the 
first  delegates  despatched  by  the  pollen-gleaners  to  ascer- 
tain the  state  of  the  season  and  attend  the  festival  of  the 
early  blooms. 

Tis  but  a  moment  since  they  burst  their  cocoon,  the 
winter  abode :  they  have  left  their  retreats  in  the  crevices 
of  the  old  walls ;  should  the  north  wind  blow  and  set  the 
almond-tree  shivering,  they  will  hasten  to  return  to  them. 
Hail  to  you,  O  my  dear  Osmiae,  who  yearly,  from  the 
far  end  of  the  harmas,  opposite  snow-capped  Ventoux,1 
bring  me  the  first  tidings  of  the  awakening  of  the  insect 
world !  I  am  one  of  your  friends ;  let  us  talk  about  you 
a  little. 

Most  of  the  Osmiae  of  my  region  do  not  themselves 
prepare  the  dwelling  destined  for  the  laying.  They  want 

1 A  .mountain  in  the  Provencal  Alps,  near  Carpentras  and  Serig> 
nan,  6,271  ft. —  Translator's  Note. 


THE  OSMLE  223 

ready-made  lodgings,  such  as  the  old  cells  and  old 
galleries  of  Anthophorae  and  Chalicodomse.  If  these 
favorite  haunts  are  lacking,  then  a  hiding-place  in  the 
wall,  a  round  hole  in  some  bit  of  wood,  the  tube  of  a 
reed,  the  spiral  of  a  dead  Snail  under  a  heap  of  stones 
are  adopted,  according  to  the  tastes  of  the  several  species. 
The  retreat  selected  is  divided  into  chambers  by  parti- 
tion-walls, after  which  the  entrance  to  the  dwelling  re- 
ceives a  massive  seal.  That  is  the  sum-total  of  the 
building  done. 

For  this  plasterer's  rather  than  mason's  work,  the 
Horned  and  the  Three-horned  Osmia  employ  soft  earth. 
This  material  is  a  sort  of  dried  mud,  which  turns  to 
pap  on  the  addition  of  a  drop  of  water.  The  two  Osmise 
limit  themselves  to  gathering  natural  soaked  earth,  mud 
in  short,  which  they  allow  to  dry  without  any  special 
preparation  on  their  part;  and  so  they  need  deep  and 
well-sheltered  retreats,  into  which  the  rain  cannot  pene- 
trate, or  the  work  would  fall  to  pieces. 

Latreille's  Osmia  uses  different  materials  for  her  par- 
titions and  her  doors.  She  chews  the  leaves  of  some 
mucilaginous  plant,  some  mallow  perhaps,  and  then  pre- 
pares a  sort  of  green  putty  with  which  she  builds  her 
partitions  and  finally  closes  the  entrance  to  the  dwelling. 
When  she  settles  in  the  spacious  cells  of  the  Masked 
Anthophora  (Anthophora  personata,  Illig.),  the  entrance 
to  the  gallery,  which  is  wide  enough  to  admit  a  man's 
ringer,  is  closed  with  a  voluminous  plug  of  this  vege- 
table paste.  On  the  earthy  banks,  hardened  by  the  sun, 
the  home  is  then  betrayed  by  the  gaudy  color  of  the  lid. 


224       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

It  is  as  though  the  authorities  had  closed  the  door  and 
affixed  to  it  their  great  seals  of  green  wax. 

So  far  then  as  their  building-materials  are  concerned, 
the  Osmiae  whom  I  have  been  able  to  observe  are  divided 
into  two  classes:  one  building  compartments  with  mud, 
the  other  with  a  green-tinted  vegetable  putty.  To  the 
latter  belongs  Latreille's  Osmia.  The  first  section  in- 
cludes the  Horned  Osmia  and  the  Three-horned  Osmia, 
both  so  remarkable  for  the  horny  tubercles  on  their 
faces. 

The  great  reed  of  the  south,  'Arundo  donax,  is  often 
used,  in  the  country,  for  making  rough  garden-shelters 
against  the  mistral  or  just  for  fences.  These  reeds,  the 
ends  of  which  are  chopped  off  to  make  them  all  the 
same  length,  are  planted  perpendicularly  in  the  earth. 
I  have  often  explored  them  in  the  hope  of  finding 
Osmia-nests.  My  search  has  very  seldom  succeeded. 
The  failure  is  easily  explained.  The  partitions  and  the 
closing-plug  of  the  Horned  and  of  the  Three-horned 
Osmia  are  made,  as  we  have  seen,  of  a  sort  of  mud 
which  water  instantly  reduces  to  pap.  With  the  upright 
position  of  the  reeds,  the  stopper  of  the  opening  would 
receive  the  rain  and  would  become  diluted;  the  ceilings 
of  the  storeys  would  fall  in  and  the  family  would  perish 
by  drowning.  Therefore  the  Osmia,  who  knew  of  these 
drawbacks  before  I  did,  refuses  the  reeds  when  they  are 
placed  perpendicularly. 

The  same  reed  is  used  for  a  second  purpose.  We 
make  canisses  of  it,  that  is  to  say,  hurdles,  which,  in 
spring,  serve  for  the  rearing  of  Silkworms  and,  in 


THE  OSMLE  225 

autumn,  for  the  drying  of  figs.  At  the  end  of  April  and 
during  May,  which  is  the  time  when  the  Osmiae  work, 
the  canisses  are  indoors,  in  the  Silkworm  nurseries, 
where  the  Bee  cannot  take  possession  of  them ;  in  autumn, 
they  are  outside,  exposing  their  layers  of  figs  and  peeled 
peaches  to  the  sun ;  but  by  that  time  the  Osmiae  have  long 
disappeared.  If,  however,  during  the  spring,  an  old, 
disused  hurdle  is  left  out  of  doors,  in  a  horizontal  posi- 
tion, the  Three-horned  Osmia  often  takes  possession  of 
it  and  makes  use  of  the  two  ends,  where  the  reeds  lie 
truncated  and  open. 

There  are  other  quarters  that  suit  the  Three-horned 
Osmia,  who  is  not  particular,  it  seems  to  me,  and  will 
make  shift  with  any  hiding-place,  so  long  as  it  have  the 
requisite  conditions  of  diameter,  solidity,  sanitation  and 
kindly  darkness.  The  most  original  dwellings  that  I 
know  her  to  occupy  are  disused  Snail-shells,  especially 
the  house  of  the  Common  Snail  {Helix  aspersa).  Let 
us  go  to  the  slope  of  the  hills  thick  with  olive-trees  and 
inspect  the  little  supporting-walls  which  are  built  of  dry 
stones  and  face  the  south.  In  the  crevices  of  this  insecure 
masonry  we  shall  reap  a  harvest  of  old  Snail-shells, 
plugged  with  earth  right  up  to  the  orifice.  The  family 
of  the  Three-horned  Osmia  is  settled  in  the  spiral  of  those 
shells,  which  is  subdivided  into  chambers  by  mud  par- 
titions. 

The  Three-pronged  Osmia  (0.  Tridentata,  Duf.  and 
Per.)  alone  creates  a  home  of  her  own,  digging  herself 
a  channel  with  her  mandibles  in  dry  bramble  and  some- 
times in  danewort. 


226       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

The  Osmia  loves  mystery.  She  wants  a  dark  retreat, 
hidden  from  the  eye.  I  would  like,  nevertheless,  to 
watch  her  in  the  privacy  of  her  home  and  to  witness  her 
work  with  the  same  facility  as  if  she  were  nest-building 
in  the  open  air.  Perhaps  there  are  some  interesting 
characteristics  to  be  picked  up  in  the  depths  of  her 
retreats.  It  remains  to  be  seen  whether  my  wish  can 
be  realized. 

When  studying  the  insect's  mental  capacity,  especially 
its  very  retentive  memory  for  places,  I  was  led  to  ask 
myself  whether  it  would  not  be  possible  to  make  a 
suitably-chosen  Bee  build  in  any  place  that  I  wished, 
even  in  my  study.  And  I  wanted,  for  an  experiment 
of  this  sort,  not  an  individual  but  a  numerous  colony. 
My  preference  lent  towards  the  Three-horned  Osmia, 
who  is  very  plentiful  in  my  neighborhood,  where,  to- 
gether with  Latreille's  Osmia,  she  frequents  in  particular 
the  monstrous  nests  of  the  Chalicodoma  of  the  Sheds. 
I  therefore  thought  out  a  scheme  for  making  the  Three- 
horned  Osmia  accept  my  study  as  her  settlement  and 
build  her  nest  in  glass  tubes,  through  which  I  could  easily 
watch  the  progress.  To  these  crystal  galleries,  which 
might  well  inspire  a  certain  distrust,  were  to  be  added 
more  natural  retreats:  reeds  of  every  length  and  thick- 
ness and  disused  Chalicodoma-nests  taken  from  among 
the  biggest  and  the  smallest.  A  scheme  like  this  sounds 
mad.  I  admit  it,  while  mentioning  that  perhaps  none 
ever  succeeded  so  well  with  me.  We  shall  see  as  much 
presently. 

My  method  is  extremely  simple.    All  I  ask  is  that  the 


THE  OSMLE  227 

birth  of  my  insects,  that  is  to  say,  their  first  seeing  the 
light,  their  emerging  from  the  cocoon,  should  take  place 
on  the  spot  where  I  propose  to  make  them  settle.  Here 
there  must  be  retreats  of  no  matter  what  nature,  but  of  a 
shape  similar  to  that  in  which  the  Osmia  delights.  The 
first  impressions  of  sight,  which  are  the  most  long-lived 
of  any,  shall  bring  back  my  insects  to  the  place  of  their 
birth.  And  not  only  will  the  Osmise  return,  through  the 
always  open  windows,  but  they  will  also  nidify  on  the 
natal  spot,  if  they  find  something  like  the  necessary  con- 
ditions. 

,  And  so,  all  through  the  winter,  I  collect  Osmia-cocoons 
picked  up  in  the  nests  of  the  Mason-bee  of  the  Sheds; 
I  go  to  Carpentras  to  glean  a  more  plentiful  supply  in 
the  nests  of  the  Anthophora.  I  spread  out  my  stock  in  a 
large  open  box  on  a  table  which  receives  a  bright 
diffused  light  but  not  the  direct  rays  of  the  sun.  The 
table  stands  between  two  windows  facing  south  and 
overlooking  the  garden.  When  the  moment  of  hatching 
comes,  those  two  windows  will  always  remain  open  to 
give  the  swarm  entire  liberty  to  go  in  and  out  as  it 
pleases.  The  glass  tubes  and  reed-stumps  are  laid  here 
and  there,  in  fine  disorder,  close  to  the  heaps  of  cocoons 
and  all  in  a  horizontal  position,  for  the  Osmia  will  have 
nothing  to  do  with  upright  reeds.  Although  such  a  pre- 
caution is  not  indispensable,  I  take  care  to  place  some 
cocoons  in  each  cylinder.  The  hatching  of  some  of  the 
Osmiae  will  therefore  take  place  under  cover  of  the  gal- 
leries destined  to  be  the  building-yard  later ;  and  the  site 
will  be  all  the  more  deeply  impressed  on  their  memory. 


228       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

When  I  have  made  these  comprehensive  arrangements, 
there  is  nothing  more  to  be  done;  and  I  wait  patiently  for 
the  building-season  to  open. 

My  Osmiae  leave  their  cocoons  in  the  second  half  of 
April.  Under  the  immediate  rays  of  the  sun,  in  well- 
sheltered  nooks,  the  hatching  would  occur  a  month 
earlier,  as  we  can  see  from  the  mixed  population  of  the 
snowy  almond-tree.  The  constant  shade  in  my  study 
has  delayed  the  awakening,  without,  however,  making 
any  change  in  the  nesting-period,  which  synchronizes 
with  the  flowering  of  the  thyme.  We  now  have,  around 
my  working-table,  my  books,  my  jars  and  my  various 
appliances,  a  buzzing  crowd  that  goes  in  and  out  of  the 
windows  at  every  moment.  I  enjoin  the  household 
henceforth  not  to  touch  a  thing  in  the  insects'  laboratory, 
to  do  no  more  sweeping,  no  more  dusting.  They  might 
disturb  a  swarm  and  make  it  think  that  my  hospitality 
was  not  to  be  trusted.  During  four  or  five  weeks  I  wit- 
ness the  work  of  a  number  of  Osmiae  which  is  much  too 
large  to  allow  my  watching  their  individual  operations. 
I  content  myself  with  a  few,  whom  I  mark  with  different- 
colored  spots  to  distinguish  them ;  and  I  take  no  notice  of 
the  others,  whose  finished  work  will  have  my  attention 
later. 

The  first  to  appear  are  the  males.  If  the  sun  is  bright, 
they  flutter  around  the  heap  of  tubes  as  if  to  take  careful 
note  of  the  locality;  blows  are  exchanged  and  the  rival 
swains  indulge  in  mild  skirmishing  on  the  floor,  then 
shake  the  dust  off  their  wings.  They  fly  assiduously 
from  tube  to  tube,  placing  their  heads  in  the  orifices  to 


THE  OSMLE  229 

see  if  some  female  will  at  last  make  up  her  mind  to 
emerge. 

One  does,  in  point  of  fact.  She  is  covered  with  dust 
and  has  the  disordered  toilet  that  is  inseparable  from  the 
hard  work  of  the  deliverance.  A  lover  has  seen  her,  so 
has  a  second,  likewise  a  third.  All  crowd  round  her. 
The  lady  responds  to  their  advances  by  clashing  her 
mandibles,  which  open  and  shut  rapidly,  several  times 
in  succession.  The  suitors  forthwith  fall  back ;  and  they 
also,  no  doubt  to  keep  up  their  dignity,  execute  savage 
mandibulaf  grimaces.  Then  the  beauty  retires  into  the 
arbor  and  her  wooers  resume  their  places  on  the  threshold. 
A  fresh  appearance  of  the  female,  who  repeats  the  play 
with  her  jaws;  a  fresh  retreat  of  the  males,  who  do  the 
best  they  can  to  flourish  their  own  pincers.  The  Osmiae 
have  a  strange  way  of  declaring  their  passion :  with  that 
fearsome  gnashing  of  their  mandibles,  the  lovers  look  as 
though  they  meant  to  devour  each  other.  It  suggests  the 
thumps  affected  by  our  yokels  in  their  moments  of  gal- 
lantry. 

The  ingenuous  idyll  is  soon  over.  The  females,  who 
grow  more  numerous  from  day  to  day,  inspect  the  prem- 
ises; they  buzz  outside  the  glass  galleries  and  the  reed 
dwellings;  they  go  in,  stay  for  a  while,  come  out,  go  in 
again  and  then  fly  away  briskly  into  the  garden.  They 
return,  first  one,  then  another.  They  halt  outside,  in  the 
sun,  or  on  the  shutters  fastened  back  against  the  wall; 
they  hover  in  the  window-recess,  come  inside,  go  to  the 
reeds  and  give  a  glance  at  them,  only  to  set  off  again  and 
to  return  soon  after.  Thus  do  they  learn  to  know  their 


230       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

home,  thus  do  they  fix  their  birthplace  in  their  memory. 
The  village  of  our  childhood  is  always  a  cherished  spot, 
never  to  be  effaced  from  our  recollection.  The  Osmia's 
life  endures  for  a  month ;  and  she  acquires  a  lasting  re- 
membrance of  her  hamlet  in  a  couple  of  days.  'T  was 
there  that  she  was  born ;  't  was  there  that  she  loved ;  't  is 
there  that  she  will  return.  Dukes  reminiscitur  Argos.1 

At  last  each  has  made  her  choice.  The  work  of  con- 
struction begins;  and  my  expectations  are  fulfilled  far 
beyond  my  wishes.  The  Osmiae  build  nests  in  all  the  re- 
treats which  I  have  placed  at  their  disposal.  And  now, 
O  my  Ostnise,  I  leave  you  a  free  field ! 

The  work  begins  with  a  thorough  spring-cleaning  of 
the  home.  Remnants  of  cocoons,  dirt  consisting  of  spoilt 
honey,  bits  of  plaster  from  broken  partitions,  remains  of 
dried  Mollusc  at  the  bottom  of  a  shell:  these  and  much 
other  insanitary  refuse  must  first  of  all  disappear.  Vio- 
lently the  Osmia  tugs  at  the  offending  object  and  tears  it 
out;  and  then  off  she  goes  in  a  desperate  hurry,  to  dis- 
pose of  it  far  away  from  the  study.  They  are  all  alike, 
these  ardent  sweepers :  in  their  excessive  zeal,  they  fear 
lest  they  should  block  up  the  place  with  a  speck  of  dust 
which  they  might  drop  in  front  of  the  new  house.  The 
glass  tubes,  which  I  myself  have  rinsed  under  the  tap,  are 
not  exempt  from  a  scrupulous  cleaning.  The  Osmia 
dusts  them,  brushes  them  thoroughly  with  her  tarsi  and 
then  sweeps  them  out  backwards.  What  does  she  pick 
up  ?  Not  a  thing.  It  makes  no  difference :  as  a  consci- 

1  Now  falling  by  another's  wound,  his  eyes 
He  casts  to  heaven,  on  Argos  thinks  and  dies. 

—  JEneid,  Book  x,  Dryden's  translation. 


THE  OSMLE  231 

entious  housewife,  she  gives  the  place  a  touch  of  the 
broom  nevertheless. 

Now  for  the  provisions  and  the  partition-walls.  Here 
the  order  of  the  work  changes  according  to  the  diameter 
of  the  cylinder.  My  glass  tubes  vary  greatly  in  dimen- 
sions. The  largest  have  an  inner  width  of  a  dozen  milli- 
meters ; 1  the  narrowest  measure  six  or  seven.2  In  the 
latter,  if  the  bottom  suit  her,  the  Osmia  sets  to  work 
bringing  pollen  and  honey.  If  the  bottom  do  not  suit 
her,  if  the  sorghum-pith  plug  with  which  I  have  closed 
the  rear-end  of  the  tube  be  too  irregular  and  badly  joined, 
the  Bee  coats  it  with  a  little  mortar.  When  this  small 
repair  is  made,  the  harvesting  begins. 

In  the  wider  tubes,  the  work  proceeds  quite  differently. 
At  the  moment  when  the  Osmia  disgorges  her  honey  and 
especially  at  the  moment  when,  with  her  hind-tarsi,  she 
rubs  the  pollen-dust  from  her  ventral  brush,  she  needs  a 
narrow  aperture,  just  big  enough  to  allow  of  her  passage. 
I  imagine  that  in  a  straitened  gallery  the  rubbing  of  her 
whole  body  against  the  sides  gives  the  harvester  a  sup- 
port for  her  brushing-work.  In  a  spacious  cylinder  this 
support  fails  her ;  and  the  Osmia  starts  with  creating  one 
for  herself,  which  she  does  by  narrowing  the  channel. 
Whether  it  be  to  facilitate  the  storing  of  the  victuals  or 
for  any  other  reason,  the  fact  remains  that  the  Osmia 
housed  in  a  wide  tube  begins  with  the  partitioning. 

Her  division  is  made  by  a  dab  of  clay  placed  at  right 
angles  to  the  axis  of  the  cylinder,  at  a  distance  from  the 

1  Nearly  half  an  inch.—  Translat or's  Note. 

2  About  a  quarter  of  an  inch. —  Translator's  Note. 


232       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

bottom  determined  by  the  ordinary  length  of  a  cell.  The 
wad  is  not  a  complete  round ;  it  is  more  crescent-shaped, 
leaving  a  circular  space  between  it  and  one  side  of  the 
tube.  Fresh  layers  are  swiftly  added  to  the  dab  of  clay ; 
and  soon  the  tube  is  divided  by  a  partition  which  has  a 
circular  opening  at  the  side  of  it,  a  sort  of  dog-hole 
through  which  the  Osmia  will  proceed  to  knead  the  Bee- 
bread.  When  the  victualing  is  finished  and  the  egg  laid 
upon  the  heap,  the  whole  is  closed  and  the  filled-up  par- 
tition becomes  the  bottom  of  the  next  cell.  Then  the 
same  method  is  repeated,  that  is  to  say,  in  front  of  the 
just  completed  ceiling  a  second  partition  is  built,  again 
with  a  side-passage,  which  is  stouter,  owing  to  its  dis- 
tance from  the  center,  and  better  able  to  withstand  the 
numerous  comings  and  goings  of  the  housewife  than  a 
central  orifice,  deprived  of  the  direct  support  of  the  wall, 
could  hope  to  be.  When  this  partition  is  ready,  the  pro- 
visioning of  the  second  cell  is  effected ;  and  so  on  until 
the  wide  cylinder  is  completely  stocked. 

The  building  of  this  preliminary  party-wall,  with  a 
narrow,  round  dog-hole,  for  a  chamber  to  which  the 
victuals  will  not  be  brought  until  later  is  not  restricted 
to  the  Three-horned  Osmia;  it  is  also  frequently  found 
in  the  case  of  the  Horned  Osmia  and  of  Latreille's  Osmia. 
Nothing  could  be  prettier  than  the  work  of  the  last- 
named,  who  goes  to  the  plants  for  her  material  and  fash- 
ions a  delicate  sheet  in  which  she  cuts  a  graceful  arch. 
The  Chinaman  partitions  his  house  with  paper  screens; 
Latreille's  Osmia  divides  hers  with  disks  of  thin  green 
cardboard  perforated  with  a  serving-hatch  which  remains 


THE  OSMLE  233 

until  the  room  is  completely  furnished.  When  we  have 
no  glass  houses  at  our  disposal,  we  can  see  these  little 
architectural  refinements  in  the  reeds  of  the  hurdles,  if 
we  open  them  at  the  right  season. 

By  splitting  the  bramble-stumps  in  the  course  of  July, 
we  perceive  also  that  the  Three-pronged  Osmia,  notwith- 
standing her  narrow  gallery,  follows  the  same  practice 
as  Latreille's  Osmia,  with  a  difference.  She  does  not 
build  a  party-wall,  which  the  diameter  of  the  cylinder 
would  not  permit;  she  confines  herself  to  putting  up  a 
frail  circular  pad  of  green  putty,  as  though  to  limit,  be- 
fore any  attempt  at  harvesting,  the  space  to  be  occupied 
by  the  Bee-bread,  whose  depth  could  not  be  calculated 
afterwards  if  the  insect  did  not  first  mark  out  its  confines. 

If,  in  order  to  see  the  Osmia's  nest  as  a  whole,  we  split 
a  reed  lengthwise,  taking  care  not  to  disturb  its  contents; 
or,  better  still,  if  we  select  for  examination  the  string 
of  cells  built  in  a  glass  tube,  we  are  forthwith  struck  by 
one  detail,  namely,  the  uneven  distances  between  the 
partitions,  which  are  placed  almost  at  right  angles  to  the 
axis  of  the  cylinder.  It  is  these  distances  which  fix  the 
size  of  the  chambers,  which,  with  a  similar  base,  have 
different  heights  and  consequently  unequal  holding- 
capacities.  The  bottom  partitions,  the  oldest,  are  farther 
apart ;  those  of  the  front  part,  near  the  orifice,  are  closer 
together.  Moreover,  the  provisions  are  plentiful  in  the 
loftier  cells,  whereas  they  are  niggardly  and  reduced  to 
one-half  or  even  one-third  in  the  cells  of  lesser  height. 
Let  me  say  at  once  that  the  large  cells  are  destined  for  the 
females  and  the  small  ones  for  the  males. 


234       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

Distribution  of  the  Sexes 

Does  the  insect  which  stores  up  provisions  proportion- 
ate to  the  needs  of  the  egg  which  it  is  about  to  lay  know 
beforehand  the  sex  of  that  egg?  Or  is  the  truth  even 
more  paradoxical?  What  we  have  to  do  is  to  turn  this 
suspicion  into  a  certainty  demonstrated  by  experiment. 
And  first  let  us  find  out  how  the  sexes  are  arranged. 

It  is  not  possible  to  ascertain  the  chronological  order 
of  a  laying,  except  by  going  to  suitably  chosen  species. 
Fortunately  there  are  a  few  species  in  which  we  do  not 
find  this  difficulty:  these  are  the  Bees  who  keep  to  one 
gallery  and  build  their  cells  in  stories.  Among  the  num- 
ber are  the  different  inhabitants  of  the  bramble-stumps, 
notably  the  Three-pronged  Osmiae,  who  form  an  excel- 
lent subject  for  observation,  partly  because  they  are  of 
imposing  size  —  bigger  than  any  other  bramble-dwellers 
in  my  neighborhood  —  partly  because  they  are  so  plen- 
tiful. 

Let  us  briefly  recall  the  Osmia's  habits.  Amid  the 
tangle  of  a  hedge,  a  bramble-stalk  is  selected,  still  stand- 
ing, but  a  mere  withered  stump.  In  this  the  insect  digs 
a  more  or  less  deep  tunnel,  an  easy  piece  of  work  owing 
to  the  abundance  of  soft  pith.  Provisions  are  heaped  up 
right  at  the  bottom  of  the  tunnel  and  an  egg  is  laid  on 
the  surface  of  the  food :  that  is  the  first-born  of  the  fam- 
ily. At  a  height  of  some  twelve  millimeters,1  a  partition 
is  fixed.  This  gives  a  second  story,  which  in  its  turn 
receives  provisions  and  an  egg,  the  second  in  order  of 

1  About  half  an  inch. —  Translator's  Note. 


THE  OSMLE  235 

primogeniture.  And  so  it  goes  on,  story  by  story,  until 
the  cylinder  is  full.  Then  the  thick  plug  of  the  same 
green  material  of  which  the  partitions  are  formed  closes 
the  home  and  keeps  out  marauders. 

In  this  common  cradle,  the  chronological  order  of 
births  is  perfectly  clear.  The  first-born  of  the  family  is 
at  the  bottom  of  the  series;  the  last-born  is  at  the  top, 
near  the  closed  door.  The  others  follow  from  bottom 
to  top  in  the  same  order  in  which  they  followed  in  point 
of  time.  The  laying  is  numbered  automatically;  each 
cocoon  tells  us  its  respective  age  by  the  place  which  it 
occupies. 

A  number  of  eggs  bordering  on  fifteen  represents  the 
entire  family  of  an  Osmia,  and  my  observations  enable 
me  to  state  that  the  distribution  of  the  sexes  is  not  gov- 
erned by  any  rule.  All  that  I  can  say  in  general  is  that 
the  complete  series  begins  with  females  and  nearly  al- 
ways ends  with  males.  The  incomplete  series  —  those 
which  the  insect  has  laid  in  various  places  —  can  teach 
us  nothing  in  this  respect,  for  they  are  only  fragments 
starting  we  know  not  whence ;  and  it  is  impossible  to  tell 
whether  they  should  be  ascribed  to  the  beginning,  to  the 
end,  or  to  an  intermediate  period  of  the  laying.  To  sum 
up :  in  the  laying  of  the  Three-pronged  Osmia,  no  order 
governs  the  succession  of  the  sexes;  only,  the  series  has 
a  marked  tendency  to  begin  with  females  and  to  finish 
with  males. 

The  mother  occupies  herself  at  the  start  with  the 
stronger  sex,  the  more  necessary,  the  better-gifted,  the 
female  sex,  to  which  she  devotes  the  first  flush  of  her 


236       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

laying  and  the  fullness  of  her  vigor;  later,  when  she  is 
perhaps  already  at  the  end  of  her  strength,  she  bestows 
what  remains  of  her  maternal  solicitude  upon  the  weaker 
sex,  the  less-gifted,  almost  negligible  male  sex.  There 
are,  however,  other  species  where  this  law  becomes  abso- 
lute, constant  and  regular. 

In  order  to  go  more  deeply  into  this  curious  question 
I  installed  some  hives  of  a  new  kind  on  the  sunniest  walls 
of  my  enclosure.  They  consisted  of  stumps  of  the  great 
reed  of  the  south,  open  at  one  end,  closed  at  the  other 
by  the  natural  knot  and  gathered  into  a  sort  of  enormous 
pan-pipe,  such  as  Polyphemus  might  have  employed. 
The  invitation  was  accepted :  Osmiae  came  in  fairly  large 
numbers,  to  benefit  by  the  queer  installation. 

Three  Osmise  especially  (0.  tricornis,  Latr.,  O  cornuta, 
Latr.,  0.  Latreilln,  Spin.)  gave  me  splendid  results,  with 
reed-stumps  arranged  either  against  the  wall  of  my  gar- 
den, as  I  have  just  said,  or  near  their  customary  abode, 
the  huge  nests  of  the  Mason-bee  of  the  Sheds.  One  of 
them,  the  Three-horned  Osmia,  did  better  still :  as  I  have 
described,  she  built  her  nests  in  my  study,  as  plentifully 
as  I  could  wish. 

We  will  consult  this  last,  who  has  furnished  me  with 
documents  beyond  my  fondest  hopes,  and  begin  by  ask- 
ing her  of  how  many  eggs  her  average  laying  consists. 
Of  the  whole  heap  of  colonized  tubes  in  my  study,  or  else 
out  of  doors,  in  the  hurdle-reeds  and  the  pan-pipe  appli- 
ances, the  best-filled  contains  fifteen  cells,  with  a  free 
space  above  the  series,  a  space  showing  that  the  laying 
is  ended,  for,  if  the  mother  had  any  more  eggs  available, 


1.  Osmia-nests  in  a  bramble  twig 

2.  Osmia-ncsts  inside  a  reed 

3.  Artificial   hive    invented  by   the   author   to   study  the    Osmia's 
laying.     It  consists  of  reed-stumps  arranged  Pan-pipe  fashion 


THE  OSMLE  237 

she  would  have  lodged  them  in  the  room  which  she  leaves 
unoccupied.  This  string  of  fifteen  appears  to  be  rare; 
it  was  the  only  one  that  I  found.  My  attempts  at  indoor 
rearing,  pursued  during  two  years  with  glass  tubes  or 
reeds,  taught  me  that  the  Three-horned  Osmia  is  not 
much  addicted  to  long  series.  As  though  to  decrease  the 
difficulties  of  the  coming  deliverance,  she  prefers  short 
galleries,  in  which  only  a  part  of  the  laying  is  stacked. 
We  must  then  follow  the  same  mother  in  her  migration 
from  one  dwelling  to  the  next  if  we  would  obtain  a  com- 
plete census  of  her  family.  A  spot  of  color,  dropped  on 
the  Bee's  thorax  with  a  paint-brush  while  she  is  absorbed 
in  closing  up  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel,  enables  us  to  rec- 
ognize the  Osmia  in  her  various  homes. 

In  this  way,  the  swarm  that  resided  in  my  study  fur- 
nished me,  in  the  first  year,  with  an  average  of  twelve 
cells.  Next  year,  the  summer  appeared  to  be  more  fa- 
vorable and  the  average  became  rather  higher,  reaching 
fifteen.  The  most  numerous  laying  performed  under 
my  eyes,  not  in  a  tube,  but  in  a  succession  of  Snail-shells, 
reached  the  figure  of  twenty-six.  On  the  other  hand, 
layings  of  between  eight  and  ten  are  not  uncommon. 
Lastly,  taking  all  my  records  together,  the  result  is  that 
the  family  of  the  Osmia  fluctuates  round  about  fifteen  in 
number. 

I  have  already  spoken  of  the  great  differences  in  size 
apparent  in  the  cells  of  one  and  the  same  series.  The 
partitions,  at  first  widely  spaced,  draw  gradually  nearer 
to  one  another  as  they  come  closer  to  the  aperture,  which 
implies  roomy  cells  at  the  back  and  narrow  cells  in  front. 


238       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

The  contents  of  these  compartments  are  no  less  uneven 
between  one  portion  and  another  of  the  string.  With- 
out any  exception  known  to  me,  the  large  cells,  those 
with  which  the  series  starts,  have  more  abundant  provi- 
sions than  the  straitened  cells  with  which  the  series  ends. 
The  heap  of  honey  and  pollen  in  the  first  is  twice  or  even 
thrice  as  large  as  that  in  the  second.  In  the  last  cells, 
the  most  recent  in  date,  the  victuals  are  but  a  pinch  of 
pollen,  so  niggardly  in  amount  that  we  wonder  what 
will  become  of  the  larva  with  that  meager  ration. 

One  would  think  that  the  Osmia,  when  nearing  the  end 
of  the  laying,  attaches  no  importance  to  her  last-born,  to 
whom  she  doles  out  space  and  food  so  sparingly.  The 
first-born  receive  the  benefit  of  her  early  enthusiasm: 
theirs  is  the  well-spread  table,  theirs  the  spacious  apart- 
ments. The  work  has  begun  to  pall  by  the  time  that  the 
last  eggs  are  laid ;  and  the  last-comers  have  to  put  up  with 
a  scurvy  portion  of  food  and  a  tiny  corner. 

The  difference  shows  itself  in  another  way  after  the 
cocoons  are  spun.  The  large  cells,  those  at  the  back, 
receive  the  bulky  cocoons ;  the  small  ones,  those  in  front, 
have  cocoons  only  half  or  a  third  as  big.  Before  open- 
ing them  and  ascertaining  the  sex  of  the  Osmia  inside, 
let  us  wait  for  the  transformation  into  the  perfect  insect, 
which  will  take  place  towards  the  end  of  summer.  If 
impatience  get  the  better  of  us,  we  can  open  them  at  the 
end  of  July  or  in  August.  The  insect  is  then  in  the 
nymphal  stage;  and  it  is  easy,  under  this  form,  to  dis- 
tinguish the  two  sexes  by  the  length  of  the  antennae, 
which  are  larger  in  the  males,  and  by  the  glassy  pro- 


THE  OSMLE  239 

tuberances  on  the  forehead,  the  sign  of  the  future  armor 
of  the  females.  Well,  the  small  cocoons,  those  in  the 
narrow  front  cells,  with  their  scanty  store  of  provisions, 
all  belong  to  males ;  the  big  cocoons,  those  in  the  spacious 
and  well-stocked  cells  at  the  back,  all  belong  to  females. 

The  conclusion  is  definite:  the  laying  of  the  Three- 
horned  Osmia  consists  of  two  distinct  groups,  first  a 
group  of  females  and  then  a  group  of  males. 

With  my  pan-pipe  apparatus  displayed  on  the  walls  of 
my  enclosure  and  with  old  hurdle-reeds  left  lying  flat  out 
of  doors,  I  obtained  the  Horned  Osmia  in  fair  quantities. 
I  persuaded  Latreille's  Osmia  to  build  her  nest  in  reeds, 
which  she  did  with  a  zeal  which  I  was  far  from  expect- 
ing. All  that  I  had  to  do  was  to  lay  some  reed-stumps 
horizontally  within  her  reach,  in  the  immediate  neigh- 
borhood of  her  usual  haunts,  namely,  the  nests  of  the 
Mason-bee  of  the  Sheds.  Lastly,  I  succeeded  without 
difficulty  in  making  her  build  her  nests  in  the  privacy  of 
my  study,  with  glass  tubes  for  a  house.  The  result  sur- 
passed my  hopes. 

With  both  these  Osmise,  the  division  of  the  gallery  is 
the  same  as  with  the  Three-horned  Osmia.'  At  the  back 
are  large  cells  with  plentiful  provisions  and  widely 
spaced  partitions;  in  front,  small  cells,  with  scanty  pro- 
visions and  partitions  close  together.  Also,  the  larger 
cells  supplied  me  with  big  cocoons  and  females;  the 
smaller  cells  gave  me  little  cocoons  and  males.  The  con- 
clusion therefore  is  exactly  the  same  in  the  case  of  all 
three  Osmiae. 

These  conclusions,  as  my  notes  show,  apply  likewise, 


240       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

in  every  respect,  to  the  various  species  of  Mason-bees; 
and  one  clear  and  simple  rule  stands  out  from  this  col- 
lection of  facts.  Apart  from  the  strange  exception  of 
the  Three-pronged  Osmia,  who  mixes  the  sexes  without 
any  order,  the  Bees  whom  I  studied  and  probably  a  crowd 
of  others  produce  first  a  continuous  series  of  females  and 
then  a  continuous  series  of  males,  the  latter  with  less 
provisions  and  smaller  cells.  This  distribution  of  the 
sexes  agrees  with  what  we  have  long  known  of  the  Hive- 
bee,  who  begins  her  laying  with  a  long  sequence  of  work- 
ers, or  sterile  females,  and  ends  it  with  a  long  sequence  of 
males.  The  analogy  continues  down  to  the  capacity  of 
the  cells  and  the  quantities  of  provisions.  The  real  fe- 
males, the  Queen-bees,  have  wax  cells  incomparably  more 
spacious  than  the  cells  of  the  males  and  receive  a  much 
larger  amount  of  food.  Everything  therefore  demon- 
strates that  we  are  here  in  the  presence  of  a  general  rule. 

Optional  Determination  of  the  Sexes 

But  does  this  rule  express  the  whole  truth?  Is  there 
nothing  beyond  a  laying  in  two  series  ?  Are  the  Osmiae, 
the  Chalicodomse  and  the  rest  of  them  fatally  bound  by 
this  distribution  of  the  sexes  into  two  distinct  groups, 
the  male  group  following  upon  the  female  group,  with- 
out any  mixing  of  the  two?  Is  the  mother  absolutely 
powerless  to  make  a  change  in  this  arrangement,  should 
circumstances  require  it? 

The  Three-pronged  Osmia  already  shows  us  that  the 
problem  is  far  from  being  solved.  In  the  same  bramble- 
stump,  the  two  sexes  occur  very  irregularly,  as  though 


THE  OSMLE  241 

at  random.  Why  this  mixture  in  the  series  of  cocoons 
of  a  Bee  closely  related  to  the  Horned  Osmia  and  the 
Three-horned  Osmia,  who  stack  theirs  methodically  by 
separate  sexes  in  the  hollow  of  a  reed?  What  the  Bee 
of  the  brambles  does  cannot  her  kinswomen  of  the  reeds 
do  too?  Nothing,  so  far  as  I  know,  explains  this  fun- 
damental difference  in  a  physiological  act  of  primary  im- 
portance. The  three  Bees  belong  to  the  same  genus; 
they  resemble  one  another  in  general  outline,  internal 
structure  and  habits;  and,  with  this  close  similarity,  we 
suddenly  find  a  strange  dissimilarity. 

There  is  just  one  thing  that  might  possibly  arouse  a 
suspicion  of  the  cause  of  this  irregularity  in  the  Three- 
pronged  Osmia's  laying.  If  I  open  a  bramble-stump  in 
the  winter  to  examine  the  Osmia's  nest,  I  find  it  impos- 
sible, in  the  vast  majority  of  cases,  to  distinguish  posi- 
tively between  a  female  and  a  male  cocoon :  the  difference 
in  size  is  so  small.  The  cells,  moreover,  have  the  same 
capacity:  the  diameter  of  the  cylinder  is  the  same 
throughout  and  the  partitions  are  almost  always  the  same 
distance  apart.  If  I  open  it  in  July,  the  victualing- 
period,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  distinguish  between  the 
provisions  destined  for  the  males  and  those  destined  for 
the  females.  The  measurement  of  the  column  of  honey 
gives  practically  the  same  depth  in  all  the  cells.  We  find 
an  equal  quantity  of  space  and  food  for  both  sexes. 

This  result  makes  us  foresee  what  a  direct  examination 
of  the  two  sexes  in  the  adult  form  tells  us.  The  male 
does  not  differ  materially  from  the  female  in  respect  of 
size.  If  he  is  a  trifle  smaller,  it  is  scarcely  noticeable, 


242       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

whereas,  in  the  Horned  Osmia  and  the  Three-horned 
Osmia,  the  male  is  only  half  or  a  third  the  size  of  the 
female,  as  we  have  seen  from  the  respective  bulk  of  their 
cocoons.  In  the  Mason-bee  of  the  Walls  there  is  also  a 
difference  in  size,  though  less  pronounced. 

The  Three-pronged  Osmia  has  not  therefore  to  trouble 
about  adjusting  the  dimensions  of  the  dwelling  and  the 
quantity  of  the  food  to  the  sex  of  the  egg  which  she  is 
about  to  lay;  the  measure  is  the  same  from  one  end  of 
the  series  to  the  other.  It  does  not  matter  if  the  sexes 
alternate  without  order:  one  and  all  will  find  what  they 
need,  whatever  their  position  in  the  row.  The  two  other 
Osmiae,  with  their  great  disparity  in  size  between  the  two 
sexes,  have  to  be  careful  about  the  twofold  consideration 
of  board  and  lodging. 

The  more  I  thought  about  this  curious  question,  the 
more  probable  it  appeared  to  me  that  the  irregular  series 
of  the  Three-pronged  Osmia  and  the  regular  series  of 
the  other  Osmiae  and  of  the  Bees  in  general  were  all 
traceable  to  a  common  law.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the 
arrangement  in  a  succession  first  of  females  and  then  of 
males  did  not  account  for  everything.  There  must  be 
something  more.  And  I  was  right :  that  arrangement  in 
series  is  only  a  tiny  fraction  of  the  reality,  which  is  re- 
markable in  a  very  different  way.  This  is  what  I  am 
going  to  prove  by  experiment. 

The  succession  first  of  females  and  then  of  males  is 
not,  in  fact,  invariable.  Thus,  the  Chalicodoma,  whose 
nests  serve  for  two  or  three  generations,  always  lays  male 
eggs  in  the  old  male  cells,  which  can  be  recognized  by 


THE  OSMLE  243 

their  lesser  capacity,  and  female  eggs  in  the  old  female 
cells  of  more  spacious  dimensions. 

This  presence  of  both  sexes  at  a  time,  even  when 
there  are  but  two  cells  free,  one  spacious  and  the  other 
small,  proves  in  the  plainest  fashion  that  the  regular 
distribution  observed  in  the  complete  nests  of  recent  pro- 
duction is  here  replaced  by  an  irregular  distribution, 
harmonizing  with  the  number  and  holding-capacity  of 
the  chambers  to  be  stocked.  The  Mason-bee  has  before 
her,  let  me  suppose,  only  five  vacant  cells :  two  larger  and 
three  smaller.  The  total  space  at  her  disposal  would  do 
for  about  a  third  of  the  laying.  Well,  in  the  two  large 
cells,  she  puts  females;  in  the  three  small  cells  she  puts 
males. 

As  we  find  the  same  sort  of  thing  in  all  the  old  nests, 
we  must  needs  admit  that  the  mother  knows  the  sex  of 
the  eggs  which  she  is  going  to  lay,  because  that  egg  is 
placed  in  a  cell  of  the  proper  capacity.  We  can  go  fur- 
ther and  admit  that  the  mother  alters  the  order  of  suc- 
cession of  the  sexes  at  her  pleasure,  because  her  layings, 
between  one  old  nest  and  another,  are  broken  up  into 
small  groups  of  males  and  females  according  to  the 
exigencies  of  space  in  the  actual  nest  which  she  happens 
to  be  occupying. 

Here  then  is  the  Chalicodoma,  when  mistress  of  an 
old  nest  of  which  she  has  not  the  power  to  alter  the  ar- 
rangement, breaking  up  her  laying  into  sections  compris- 
ing both  sexes  just  as  required  by  the  conditions  imposed 
upon  her.  She  therefore  decides  the  sex  of  the  egg  at 
will,  for,  without  this  prerogative*  she  could  not,  in  the 


244       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

chambers  of  the  nest  which  she  owes  to  chance,  deposit 
unerringly  the  sex  for  which  those  chambers  were  orig- 
inally built ;  and  this  happens  however  small  the  number 
of  chambers  to  be  filled. 

When  the  mother  herself  founds  the  dwelling,  when 
she  lays  the  first  rows  of  bricks,  the  females  come  first 
and  the  males  at  the  finish.  But,  when  she  is  in  the 
presence  of  an  old  nest,  of  which  she  is  quite  unable  to 
alter  the  general  arrangement,  how  is  she  to  make  use 
of  a  few  vacant  rooms,  the  large  and  small  alike,  if  the 
sex  of  the  egg  be  already  irrevocably  fixed?  She  can 
only  do  so  by  abandoning  the  arrangement  in  two  con- 
secutive rows  and  accommodating  her  laying  to  the 
varied  exigencies  of  the  home.  Either  she  finds  it  im- 
possible to  make  an  economical  use  of  the  old  nest,  a 
theory  refuted  by  the  evidence,  or  else  she  determines  at 
will  the  sex  of  the  egg  which  she  is  about  to  lay. 

The  Osmiae  themselves  will  furnish  the  most  conclusive 
evidence  on  the  latter  point.  We. have  seen  that  these 
Bees  are  not  generally  miners,  who  themselves  dig  out 
the  foundation  of  their  cells.  They  make  use  of  the  old 
structures  of  others,  or  else  of  natural  retreats,  such  as 
hollow  stems,  the  spirals  of  empty  shells  and  various  hid- 
ing-places in  walls,  clay  or  wood.  Their  work  is  con- 
fined to  repairs  to  the  house,  such  as  partitions  and 
covers.  There  are  plenty  of  these  retreats;  and  the  in- 
sects would  always  find  first-class  ones  if  it  thought  of 
going  any  distance  to  look  for  them.  But  the  Osmia 
is  a  stay-at-home:  she  returns  to  her  birthplace  and 


THE  OSMLE  245 

clings  to  it  with  a  patience  extremely  difficult  to  exhaust. 
It  is  here,  in  this  little  familiar  corner,  that  she  prefers 
to  settle  her  progeny.  But  then  the  apartments  are  few 
in  number  and  of  all  shapes  and  sizes.  There  are  long 
and  short  ones,  spacious  ones  and  narrow.  Short  of  ex- 
patriating herself,  a  Spartan  course,  she  has  to  use  them 
all,  from  first  to  last,  for  she  has  no  choice.  Guided 
by  these  considerations,  I  embarked  on  the  experiments 
which  I  will  now  describe. 

I  have  said  how  my  study  became  a  populous  hive,  in 
which  the  Three-horned  Osmia  built  her  nests  in  the 
various  appliances  which  I  had  prepared  for  her. 
Among  these  appliances,  tubes,  either  of  glass  or  reed, 
predominated.  There  were  tubes  of  all  lengths  and 
widths.  In  the  long  tubes,  entire  or  almost  entire  lay- 
ings, with  a  series  of  females  followed  by  a  series  of 
males,  were  deposited.  As  I  have  already  referred  to 
this  result,  I  will  not  discuss  it  again.  The  short  tubes 
were  sufficiently  varied  in  length  to  lodge  one  or  other 
portion  of  the  total  laying.  Basing  my  calculations  on 
the  respective  lengths  of  the  cocoons  of  the  two  sexes,  on 
the  thickness  of  the  partitions  and  the  final  lid,  I  short- 
ened some  of  these  to  the  exact  dimensions  required  for 
two  cocoons  only,  of  different  sexes. 

Well,  these  short  tubes,  whether  of  glass  or  reed,  were 
seized  upon  as  eagerly  as  the  long  tubes.  Moreover,  they 
yielded  this  splendid  result:  their  contents,  only  a  part 
of  the  total  laying,  always  began  with  female  and  ended 
with  male  cocoons.  This  order  was  invariable;  what 


246       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

varied  was  the  number  of  cells  in  the  long  tubes  and  the 
proportion  between  the  two  sorts  of  cocoons,  sometimes 
males  predominating  and  sometimes  females. 

When  confronted  with  tubes  too  small  to  receive  all 
her  family,  the  Osmia  is  in  the  same  plight  as  the  Mason- 
bee  in  the  presence  of  an  old  nest.  She  thereupon  acts 
exactly  as  the  Chalicodoma  does.  She  breaks  up  her 
laying,  divides  it  into  series  as  short  as  the  room  at  her 
disposal  demands;  and  each  series  begins  with  females 
and  ends  with  males.  This  breaking  up,  on  the  one 
hand,  into  sections  in  all  of  which  both  sexes  are  repre- 
sented and  the  division,  on  the  other  hand,  of  the  entire 
laying  into  just  two  groups,  one  female,  the  other  male, 
when  the  length  of  the  tube  permits,  surely  provides  us 
with  ample  evidence  of  the  insect's  power  to  regulate  the 
sex  of  the  egg  according  to  the  exigencies  of  space. 

And  besides  the  exigencies  of  space  one  might  perhaps 
venture  to  add  those  connected  with  the  earlier  develop- 
ment of  the  males.  These  burst  their  cocoons  a  couple 
of  weeks  or  more  before  the  females;  they  are  the  first 
who  hasten  to  the  sweets  of  the  almond-tree.  In  order 
to  release  themselves  and  emerge  into  the  glad  sunlight 
without  disturbing  the  string  of  cocoons  wherein  their 
sisters  are  still  sleeping,  they  must  occupy  the  upper  end 
of  the  row ;  and  this,  no  doubt,  is  the  reason  that  makes 
the  Osmia  end  each  of  her  broken  layings  with  males. 
Being  next  to  the  door,  these  impatient  ones  will  leave 
the  home  without  upsetting  the  shells  that  are  slower  in 
hatching. 

I  had  offered  at  the  same  time  to  the  Osmiae  in  my 


THE  OSMLE  247 

study  some  old  nests  of  the  Mason-bee  of  the  Shrubs, 
which  are  clay  spheroids  with  cylindrical  cavities  in  them. 
These  cavities  are  formed,  as  in  the  old  nests  of  the 
Mason-bee  of  the  Pebbles,  of  the  cell  properly  so-called 
and  of  the  exit- way  which  the  perfect  insect  cut  through 
the  outer  coating  at  the  time  of  its  deliverance.  The 
diameter  is  about  7  millimeters;  *  their  depth  at  the  center 
of  the  heap  is  23  millimeters  2  and  at  the  edge  averages 
14  millimeters.3 

The  deep  central  cells  receive  only  the  females  of  the 
Osmia;  sometimes  even  the  two  sexes  together,  with  a 
partition  in  the  middle,  the  female  occupying  the  lower 
and  the  male  the  upper  story.  Lastly,  the  deeper  cavi- 
ties on  the  circumference  are  allotted  to  females  and  the 
shallower  to  males. 

We  know  that  the  Three-horned  Osmia  prefers  to 
haunt  the  habitations  of  the  Bees  who  nidify  in  populous 
colonies,  such  as  the  Mason-bee  of  the  Sheds  and  the 
Hairy- footed  Anthophora,  in  whose  nests  I  have  noted 
similar  facts. 

Thus  the  sex  of  the  egg  is  optional.  The  choice  rests 
with  the  mother,  who  is  guided  by  considerations  of 
space  and,  according  to  the  accommodation  at  her  dis- 
posal, which  is  frequently  fortuitous  and  incapable  of 
modification,  places  a  female  in  this  cell  and  a  male  in 
that,  so  that  both  may  have  a  dwelling  of  a  size  suited 
to  their  unequal  development.  This  is  the  unimpeach- 
able evidence  of  the  numerous  and  varied  facts  which 

1 .273  inch.—  Translator's  Note. 
2 .897  inch. —  Translator's  Note. 
8.546  inch. —  Translator's  Note. 


248       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

I  have  set  forth.  People  unfamiliar  with  insect  anatomy 
—  the  public  for  whom  I  write  —  would  probably  give 
the  following  explanation  of  this  marvelous  prerogative 
of  the  Bee:  the  mother  has  at  her  disposal  a  certain 
number  of  eggs,  some  of  which  are  irrevocably  female 
and  the  others  irrevocably  male :  she  is  able  to  pick  out 
of  either  group  the  one  which  she  wants  at  the  actual 
moment ;  and  her  choice  is  decided  by  the  holding  capac- 
ity of  the  cell  that  has  to  be  stocked.  Everything  would 
then  be  limited  to  a  judicious  selection  from  the  heap  of 
eggs. 

Should  this  idea  occur  to  him,  the  reader  must  hasten 
to  reject  it.  Nothing  could  be  more  false,  as  the  most 
casual  reference  to  anatomy  will  show.  The  female  re- 
productive apparatus  of  the  Hymenoptera  consists  gener- 
ally of  six  ovarian  tubes,  something  like  glove-fingers, 
divided  into  bunches  of  three  and  ending  in  a  common 
canal,  the  oviduct,  which  carries  the  eggs  outside.  Each 
of  these  glove-fingers  is  fairly  wide  at  the  base,  but  tapers 
sharply  towards  the  tip,  which  is  closed.  It  contains, 
arranged  in  a  row,  one  after  the  other,  like  beads  on  a 
string,  a  certain  number  of  eggs,  five  or  six  for  instance, 
of  which  the  lower  ones  are  more  or  less  developed,  the 
middle  ones  half-way  towards  maturity,  and  the  upper 
ones  very  rudimentary.  Every  stage  of  evolution  is  here 
represented,  distributed  regularly  from  bottom  to  top, 
from  the  verge  of  maturity  to  the  vague  outlines  of  the 
embryo.  The  sheath  clasps  its  string  of  ovules  so  closely 
that  any  inversion  of  the  order  is  impossible.  Besides, 
an  inversion  would  result  in  a  gross  absurdity:  the  re- 


THE  OSMLE  249 

placing  of  a  riper  egg  by  another  in  an  earlier  stage  of 
development. 

Therefore,  in  each  ovarian  tube,  in  each  glove-finger, 
the  emergence  of  the  eggs  occurs  according  to  the  order 
governing  their  arrangement  in  the  common  sheath ;  and 
any  other  sequence  is  absolutely  impossible.  Moreover, 
at  the  nesting-period,  the  six  ovarian  sheaths,  one  by  one 
and  each  in  its  turn,  have  at  their  base  an  egg  which  in 
a  very  short  time  swells  enormously.  Some  hours  or 
even  a  day  before  the  laying,  that  egg  by  itself  repre- 
sents or  even  exceeds  in  bulk  the  whole  of  the  ovigerous 
apparatus.  This  is  the  egg  which  is  on  the  point  of 
being  laid.  It  is  about  to  descend  into  the  oviduct,  in 
its  proper  order,  at  its  proper  time;  and  the  mother  has 
no  power  to  make  another  take  its  place.  It  is  this  egg, 
necessarily  this  egg  and  no  other,  that  will  presently  be 
laid  upon  the  provisions,  whether  these  be  a  mess  of 
honey  or  a  live  prey ;  it  alone  is  ripe,  it  alone  lies  at  the 
entrance  to  the  oviduct;  none  of  the  others,  since  they 
are  farther  back  in  the  row  and  not  at  the  right  stage  of 
development,  can  be  substituted  at  this  crisis.  Its  birth 
is  inevitable. 

What  will  it  yield,  a  male  or  a  female?  No  lodging 
has  been  prepared,  no  food  collected  for  it ;  and  yet  both 
food  and  lodging  have  to  be  in  keeping  with  the  sex  that 
will  proceed  from  it.  And  here  is  a  much  more  puzzling 
condition:  the  sex  of  that  egg,  wRbse  advent  is  predes- 
tined, has  to  correspond  with  the  space  which  the  mother 
happens  to  have  found  for  a  cell.  There  is  therefore  no 
room  for  hesitation,  strange  though  the  statement  may 


250       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

appear :  the  egg,  as  it  descends  from  its  ovarian  tube,  has 
no  determined  sex.  It  is  perhaps  during  the  few  hours 
of  its  rapid  development  at  the  base  of  its  ovarian  sheath, 
it  is  perhaps  on  its  passage  through  the  oviduct  that  it 
receives,  at  the  mother's  pleasure,  the  final  impress  that 
will  produce,  to  match  the  cradle  which  it  has  to  fill, 
either  a  female  or  a  male. 

Permutations  of  Sex 

Thereupon  the  following  question  presents  itself.  Let 
us  admit  that,  when  the  normal  conditions  remain,  a 
laying  would  have  yielded  m  females  and  n  males.  Then, 
if  my  conclusions  are  correct,  it  must  be  in  the  mother's 
power,  when  the  conditions  are  different,  to  take  from 
the  m  group  and  increase  the  n  group  to  the  same  extent ; 
it  must  be  possible  for  her  laying  to  be  represented  as 
m — i,  m  —  2,  m  —  3,  etc.  females  and  by  n  +  i, 
n  -f-  2,  n  -f  3,  etc.  males,  the  sum  of  m  -j-  n  remaining 
constant,  but  one  of  the  sexes  being  partly  permuted  into 
the  other.  The  ultimate  conclusion  even  cannot  be  dis- 
regarded: we  must  admit  a  set  of  eggs  represented  by 
m  —  m,  or  zero,  females  and  of  n  -f-  m  males,  one  of  the 
sexes  being  completely  replaced  by  the  other.  Con- 
versely, it  must  be  possible  for  the  feminine  series  to  be 
augmented  from  the  masculine  series  to  the  extent  of 
absorbing  it  entirely.  It  was  to  solve  this  question  and 
some  others  connected  with  it  that  I  undertook,  for  the 
second  time,  to  rear  the  Three-horned  Osmia  in  my  study. 

The  problem  on  this  occasion  is  a  more  delicate  one; 


THE  OSMLE  251 

but  I  am  also  better-equipped.  My  apparatus  consists 
of  two  small  closed  packing-cases,  with  the  front  side 
of  each  pierced  with  forty  holes,  in  which  I  can  insert 
my  glass  tubes  and  keep  them  in  a  horizontal  position. 
I  thus  obtain  for  the  Bees  the  darkness  and  mystery 
which  suit  their  work  and  for  myself  the  power  of  with- 
drawing from  my  hive,  at  any  time,  any  tube  that  I  wish, 
with  the  Osmia  inside,  so  as  to  carry  it  to  the  light  and 
follow,  ifneed  be  with  the  aid  of  the  lens,  the  operations 
of  the  busy  worker.  My  investigations,  however  fre- 
quent and  minute,  in  no  way  hinder  the  peaceable  Bee, 
who  remains  absorbed  in  her  maternal  duties. 

I  mark  a  plentiful  number  of  my  guests  with  a  variety 
of  dots  on  the  thorax,  which  enables  me  to  follow  any 
one  Osmia  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  her  laying. 
The  tubes  and  their  respective  holes  are  numbered;  a 
list,  always  lying  open  on  my  desk,  enables  me  to  note 
from  day  to  day,  sometimes  from  hour  to  hour,  what 
happens  in  each  tube  and  particularly  the  actions  of  the 
Osmiae  whose  backs  bear  distinguishing  marks.  As  soon 
as  one  tube  is  filled,  I  replace  it  by  another.  Moreover, 
I  have  scattered  in  front  of  either  hive  a  few  handfuls 
of  empty  Snail-shells,  specially  chosen  for  the  object 
which  I  have  in  view.  Reasons  which  I  will  explain  later 
led  me  to  prefer  the  shells  of  Helix  c&spitum.  Each  of 
the  shells,  as  and  when  stocked,  received  the  date  of  the 
laying  and  the  alphabetical  sign  corresponding  with  the 
Osmia  to  whom  it  belonged.  In  this  way,  I  spent  five 
or  six  weeks  in  continual  observation.  To  succeed  in  an 
inquiry,  the  first  and  foremost  condition  is  patience. 


252       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

This  condition  I  fulfilled ;  and  it  was  rewarded  with  the 
success  which  I  was  justified  in  expecting. 

The  tubes  employed  are  of  two  kinds.  The  first, 
which  are  cylindrical  and  of  the  same  width  throughout, 
will  be  of  use  for  confirming  the  facts  observed  in  the 
first  year  of  my  experiments  in  indoor  rearing.  The 
others,  the  majority,  consist  of  two  cylinders  which  are 
of  very  different  diameters,  set  end  to  end.  The  front 
cylinder,  the  one  which  projects  a  little  way  outside  the 
hive  and  forms  the  entrance-hole,  varies  in  width  be- 
tween 8  and  12  millimeters.1  The  second,  the  back  one, 
contained  entirely  within  my  packing-case,  is  closed  at 
its  far  end  and  is  5  to  6  millimeters  2  in  diameter.  Each 
of  the  two  parts  of  the  double-galleried  tunnel,  one  nar- 
row and  one  wide,  measures  at  most  a  decimeter3  in 
length.  I  thought  it  advisable  to  have  these  short  tubes, 
as  the  Osmia  is  thus  compelled  to  select  different  lodg- 
ings, each  of  them  being  insufficient  in  itself  to  accommo- 
date the  total  laying.  In  this  way  I  shall  obtain  a 
greater  variety  in  the  distribution  of  the  sexes.  Lastly, 
at  the  mouth  of  each  tube,  which  projects  slightly  outside 
the  case,  there  is  a  little  paper  tongue,  forming  a  sort 
of  perch  on  which  the  Osmia  alights  on  her  arrival  and 
giving  easy  access  to  the  house.  With  these  facilities, 
the  swarm  colonized  fifty-two  double-galleried  tubes, 
thirty-seven  cylindrical  tubes,  seventy-eight  Snail-shells 
and  a  few  old  nests  of  the  Mason-bee  of  the  Shrubs. 

1  Between  .312  and  .468  inch. —  Translator's  Note. 
2.IQ5  to  .234  inch. —  Translator's  Note. 
3  3.9  inches. —  Translator's  Note. 


THE  OSMLE  253 

From  this  rich  mine  of  material  I  will  take  what  I  want 
to  prove  my  case. 

Every  series,  even  when  incomplete,  begins  with  fe- 
males and  ends  with  males.  To  this  rule  I  have  not  yet 
found  an  exception,  at  least  in  galleries  of  normal  diame- 
ter. In  each  new  abode  the  mother  busies  herself  first  of 
all  with  the  more  important  sex.  Bearing  this  point  in 
mind,  would  it  be  possible  for  me,  by  manoeuvering,  to 
obtain  an^  inversion  of  this  order  and  make  the  laying 
begin  with  males?  I  think  so,  from  the  results  already 
ascertained  and  the  irresistible  conclusions  to  be  drawn 
from  them.  The  double-galleried  tubes  are  installed  in 
order  to  put  my  conjectures  to  the  proof. 

The  back  gallery,  5  or  6  millimeters  *  wide,  is  too 
narrow  to  serve  as  a  lodging  for  normally  developed 
females.  If,  therefore,  the  Osmia,  who  is  very  economi- 
cal of  her  space,  wishes  to  occupy  them,  she  will  be 
obliged  to  establish  males  there.  And  her  laying  must 
necessarily  begin  here,  because  this  corner  is  the  rear- 
most part  of  the  tube.  The  foremost  gallery  is  wide, 
with  an  entrance-door  on  the  front  of  the  hive.  Here, 
finding  the  conditions  to  which  she  is  accustomed,  the 
mother  will  go  on  with  her  laying  in  the  order  which 
she  prefers. 

Let  us  now  see  what  has  happened.  Of  the  fifty-two 
double-galleried  tubes,  about  a  third  did  not  have  their 
narrow  passage  colonized.  The  Osmia  closed  its  aper- 
ture communicating  with  the  large  passage;  and  the  lat- 
ter alone  received  the  eggs.  This  waste  of  space  was  in- 

l.i9S  to  .234  inch. —  Translator's  Note. 


254       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

evitable.  The  female  Osmiae,  though  nearly  always 
larger  than  the  males,  present  marked  differences  among 
one  another:  some  are  bigger,  some  are  smaller.  I  had 
to  adjust  the  width  of  the  narrow  galleries  to  Bees  of 
average  dimensions.  It  may  happen  therefore  that  a 
gallery  is  too  small  to  admit  the  large-sized  mothers  to 
whom  chance  allots  it.  When  the  Osmia  is  unable  to 
enter  the  tube,  obviously  she  will  not  colonize  it.  She 
then  closes  the  entrance  to  this  space  which  she  cannot 
use  and  does  her  laying  beyond  it,  in  the  wide  tube. 
Had  I  tried  to  avoid  these  useless  apparatus  by  choosing 
tubes  of  larger  caliber,  I  should  have  encountered  an- 
other drawback :  the  medium-sized  mothers,  finding  them- 
selves almost  comfortable,  would  have  decided  to  lodge 
females  there.  I  had  to  be  prepared  for  it:  as  each 
mother  selected  her  house  at  will  and  as  I  was  unable  to 
interfere  in  her  choice,  a  narrow  tube  would  be  colonized 
or  not,  according  as  the  Osmia  who  owned  it  was  or  was 
not  able  to  make  her  way  inside. 

There  remain  some  forty  pairs  of  tubes  with  both 
galleries  colonized.  In  these  there  are  two  things  to  take 
into  consideration.  The  narrow  rear  tubes  of  5  or  5^2 
millimeters  l —  and  these  are  the  most  numerous  —  con- 
tain males  and  males  only,  but  in  short  series,  between 
one  and  five.  The  mother  is  here  so  much  hampered  in 
her  work  that  they  are  rarely  occupied  from  end  to  end ; 
the  Osmia  seems  in  a  hurry  to  leave  them  and  to  go  and 
colonize  the  front  tube,  whose  ample  space  will  leave  her 
the  liberty  of  movement  necessary  for  her  operations. 

1 .195  to  .214  inch. —  Translator's  Note. 


THE  OSMLE  255 

The  other  rear  tubes,  the  minority,  whose  diameter  is 
about  6  millimeters,1  contain  sometimes  only  females  and 
sometimes  females  at  the  back  and  males  towards  the 
opening.  One  can  see  that  a  tube  a  trifle  wider  and  a 
mother  slightly  smaller  would  account  for  this  difference 
in  the  results.  Nevertheless,  as  the  necessary  space  for 
a  female  is  barely  provided  in  this  case,  we  see  that  the 
mother  avoids  as  far  as  she  can  a  two-sex  arrangement 
beginning  with  males  and  that  she  adopts  it  only  in  the 
last  extremity.  Finally,  whatever  the  contents  of  the 
small  tube  may  be,  those  of  the  large  one,  following  upon 
it,  never  vary  and  consist  of  females  at  the  back  and 
males  in  front. 

Though  incomplete,  because  of  circumstances  very 
difficult  to  control,  the  result  of  the  experiment  is  none 
the  less  very  remarkable.  Twenty-five  apparatus  contain 
only  males  in  their  narrow  gallery,  in  numbers  varying 
from  a  minimum  of  one  to  a  maximum  of  five.  After 
these  comes  the  colony  of  the  large  gallery,  beginning 
with  females  and  .ending  with  males.  And  the  layings 
in  these  apparatus  do  not  always  belong  to  late  summer 
or  even  to  the  intermediate  period:  a  few  small  tubes 
contain  the  earliest  eggs  of  the  entire  swarm.  A  couple 
of  Osmiae,  more  forward  than  the  others,  set  to  work 
on  the  23rd  of  April.  Both  of  them  started  their  laying 
by  placing  males  in  the  narrow  tubes.  The  meager  sup- 
ply of  provisions  was  enough  in  itself  to  show  the  sex, 
which  proved  later  to  be  in  accordance  with  my  antici- 
pations. We  see  then  that,  by  my  artifices,  the  whole 
1 .234  inch.—  Translator's  Note. 


256       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

swarm  starts  with  the  converse  of  the  normal  order. 
This  inversion  is  continued,  at  no  matter  what  period, 
from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  operations.  The 
series  which,  according  to  rule,  would  begin  with  females 
now  begins  with  males.  Once  the  larger  gallery  is 
reached,  the  laying  is  pursued  in  the  usual  order. 

We  have  advanced  one  step  and  that  no  small  one: 
we  have  seen  that  the  Osmia,  when  circumstances  re- 
quire it,  is  capable  of  reversing  the  sequence  of  the  sexes. 
Would  it  be  possible,  provided  that  the  tube  were  long 
enough,  to  obtain  a  complete  inversion,  in  which  the 
entire  series  of  the  males  should  occupy  the  narrow  gal- 
lery at  the  back  and  the  entire  series  of  the  females  the 
roomy  gallery  in  front  ?  I  think  not ;  and  I  will  tell  you 
why. 

Long  and  narrow  cylinders  are  by  no  means  to  the 
Osmia's  taste,  not  because  of  their  narrowness  but  be- 
cause of  their  length.  Observe  that  for  each  load  of 
honey  brought  the  worker  is  obliged  to  move  backwards 
twice.  She  enters,  head  first,  to  begin  by  disgorging  the 
honey-syrup  from  her  crop.  Unable  to  turn  in  a  passage 
which  she  blocks  entirely,  she  goes  out  backwards,  crawl- 
ing rather  than  walking,  a  laborious  performance  on  the 
polished  surface  of  the  glass  and  a  performance  which, 
with  any  other  surface,  would  still  be  very  awkward,  as 
the  wings  are  bound  to  rub  against  the  wall  with  their 
free  end  and  are  liable  to  get  rumpled  or  bent.  She  goes 
out  backwards,  reaches  the  outside,  turns  round  and  goes 
in  again,  but  this  time  the  opposite  way,  so  as  to  brush 
off  the  load  of  pollen  from  her  abdomen  on  to  the  heap. 


THE  OSMLE  257 

If  the  gallery  is  at  all  long,  this  crawling  backwards  be- 
comes troublesome  after  a  time;  and  the  Osmia  soon 
abandons  a  passage  that  is  too  small  to  allow  of  free 
movement.  I  have  said  that  the  narrow  tubes  of  my 
apparatus  are,  for  the  most  part,  only  very  incompletely 
colonized.  The  Bee,  after  lodging  a  small  number  of 
males  in  them,  hastens  to  leave  them.  In  the  wide  front 
gallery  she  can  stay  where  she  is  and  still  be  able  to  turn 
round  easily  for  her  different  manipulations;  she  will 
avoid  those  two  long  journeys  backwards,  which  are  so 
exhausting  and  so  bad  for  her  wings. 

Another  reason  no  doubt  prompts  her  not  to  make  too 
great  a  use  of  the  narrow  passage,  in  which  she  would 
establish  males,  followed  by  females  in  the  part  where 
the  gallery  widens.  The  males  have  to  leave  their  cells 
a  couple  of  weeks  or  more  before  the  females.  If  they 
occupy  the  back  of  the  house  they  will  die  prisoners  or 
else  they  will  overturn  everything  on  their  way  out.  This 
risk  is  avoided  by  the  order  which  the  Osmia  adopts. 

In  my  tubes,  with  their  unusual  arrangement,  the 
mother  might  well  find  the  dilemma  perplexing:  there 
is  the  narrowness  of  the  space  at  her  disposal  and  there 
is  the  emergence  later  on.  In  the  narrow  tubes,  the 
width  is  insufficient  for  the  females ;  on  the  other  hand, 
if  she  lodges  males  there,  they  are  liable  to  perish,  since 
they  will  be  prevented  from  issuing  at  the  proper  mo- 
ment. This  would  perhaps  explain  the  mother's  hesi- 
tation and  her  obstinacy  in  settling  females  in  some  of 
my  apparatus  which  looked  as  if  they  could  suit  none 
but  males. 


258       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

A  suspicion  occurs  to  me,  a  suspicion  aroused  by  my 
attentive  examination  of  the  narrow  tubes.  All,  what- 
ever the  number  of  their  inmates,  are  carefully  plugged 
at  the  opening,  just  as  separate  tubes  would  be.  It  might 
therefore  be  the  case  that  the  narrow  gallery  at  the  back 
was  looked  upon  by  the  Osmia  not  as  the  prolongation 
of  the  large  front  gallery,  but  as  an  independent  tube. 
The  facility  with  which  the  worker  turns  as  soon  as  she 
reaches  the  wide  tube,  her  liberty  of  action,  which  is  now 
as  great  as  in  a  doorway  communicating  with  the  outer 
air,  might  well  be  misleading  and  cause  the  Osmia  to 
treat  the  narrow  passage  at  the  back  as  though  the  wide 
passage  in  front  did  not  exist.  This  would  account  for 
the  placing  of  the  female  in  the  large  tube  above  the 
males  in  the  small  tube,  an  arrangement  contrary  to  her 
custom. 

I  will  not  undertake  to  decide  whether  the  mother 
really  appreciates  the  danger  of  my  snares,  or  whether 
she  makes  a  mistake  in  considering  only  the  space  at  her 
disposal  and  beginning  with  males,  who  are  liable  to  re- 
main imprisoned.  At  any  rate,  I  perceive  a  tendency  to 
deviate  as  little  as  possible  from  the  order  which  safe- 
guards the  emergence  of  both  sexes.  This  tendency  is 
demonstrated  by  her  repugnance  to  colonizing  my  narrow 
tubes  with  long  series  of  males.  However,  so  far  as  we 
are  concerned,  it  does  not  matter  much  what  passes  at 
such  times  in  the  Osmia's  little  brain.  Enough  for  us 
to  know  that  she  dislikes  narrow  and  long  tubes,  not  be- 
cause they  are  narrow,  but  because  they  are  at  the  same 
time  long. 


THE  OSMLE  259 

And,  in  fact,  she  does  very  well  with  a  short  tube  of 
the  same  diameter.  Such  are  the  cells  in  the  old  nests 
of  the  Mason-bee  of  the  Shrubs  and  the  empty  shells  of 
the  Garden  Snail.  With  the  short  tube  the  two  disad- 
vantages of  the  long  tube  are  avoided.  She  has  very  lit- 
tle of  that  crawling  backwards  to  do  when  she  has  a 
Snail-shell  for  the  home  of  her  eggs  and  scarcely  any 
when  the  home  is  the  cell  of  the  Mason-bee.  Moreover, 
as  the  stack  of  cocoons  numbers  two  or  three  at  most, 
the  deliverance  will  be  exempt  from  the  difficulties  at- 
tached to  a  long  series.  To  persuade  the  Osmia  to  nidify 
in  a  single  tube  long  enough  to  receive  the  whole  of  her 
laying  and  at  the  same  time  narrow  enough  to  leave  her 
only  just  the  possibility  of  admittance  appears  to  me  a 
project  without  the  slightest  chance  of  success:  the  Bee 
would  stubbornly  refuse  such  a  dwelling  or  would  con- 
tent herself  with  entrusting  only  a  very  small  portion  of 
her  eggs  to  it.  On  the  other  hand,  with  narrow  but 
short  cavities,  success,  without  being  easy,  seems  to  me 
at  least  quite  possible.  Guided  by  these  considerations, 
I  embarked  upon  the  most  arduous  part  of  my  problem : 
to  obtain  the  complete  or  almost  complete  permutation 
of  one  sex  with  the  other;  to  produce  a  laying  consisting 
only  of  males  by  offering  the  mother  a  series  of  lodgings 
suited  only  to  males. 

Let  us  in  the  first  place  consult  the  old  nests  of  the 
Mason-bee  of  the  Shrubs.  I  have  said  that  these  mortar 
spheroids,  pierced  all  over  with  little  cylindrical  cavities, 
are  adopted  pretty  eagerly  by  the  Three-horned  Osmia, 
who  colonizes  them  before  my  eyes  with  females  in  the 


260       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

deep  cells  and  males  in  the  shallow  cells.  That  is  how 
things  go  when  the  old  nest  remains  in  its  natural  state. 
With  a  grater,  however,  I  scrape  the  outside  of  another 
nest  .so  as  to  reduce  the  depth  of  the  cavities  to  some  ten 
millimeters.1  This  leaves  in  each  cell  just  room  for  one 
cocoon,  surmounted  by  the  closing  stopper.  Of  the  four- 
teen cavities  in  the  nests,  I  leave  two  intact,  measuring 
fifteen  millimeters2  in  depth.  Nothing  could  be  more 
striking  than  the  result  of  this  experiment,  made  in  the 
first  year  of  my  home  rearing.  The  twelve  cavities 
whose  depth  had  been  reduced  all  received  males;  the 
two  cavities  left  untouched  received  females. 

A  year  passes  and  I  repeat  the  experiment  with  a  nest 
of  fifteen  cells;  but  this  time  all  the  cells  are  reduced  to 
the  minimum  depth  with  the  grater.  Well,  the  fifteen 
cells,  from  first  to  last,  are  occupied  by  males.  It  must 
be  quite  understood  that,  in  each  case,  all  the  offspring 
belonged  to  one  mother,  marked  with  her  distinguishing 
dot  and  kept  in  sight  as  long  as  her  laying  lasted.  He 
would  indeed  be  difficult  to  please  who  refused  to  bow 
before  the  results  of  these  two  experiments.  If,  how- 
ever, he  is  not  yet  convinced,  here  is  something  to  remove 
his  last  doubts. 

The  Three-horned  Osmia  often  settles  her  family  in 
old  shells,  especially  those  of  the  Common  Snail  ( Helix' 
aspersa),  who  is  so  common  under  the  stone-heaps  and 
in  the  crevices  of  the  little  unmortared  walls  that  support 
our  terraces.  In  this  species  the  spiral  is  wide  open,  so 

1  About  two-fifths  of  an  inch.—  Translator's  Note. 
2 .585  inch. —  Translator's  Note. 


m  * 


m^s*z 


tefiK    '•  V ^     *  ^i£jfe** 

'f^f^-^^M 

w^- 


OLD   NESTS   USED  BY  THE  OSMIA   IN  LAYING  HER  EGOS 

Nest  of  the  Mason-bee  of  the  Osmia-grubs  in  empty  shells  of 

shrubs  the  Garden  Snail 

Nests  of  the  Mason-bee  of  the  Sheds 


THE  OSMLE  261 

that  the  Osmia,  penetrating  as  far  down  as  the  helical 
passage  permits,  finds,  immediately  above  the  point  which 
is  too  narrow  to  pass,  the  space  necessary  for  the  cell 
of  a  female.  This  cell  is  succeeded  by  others,  wider 
still,  always  for  females,  arranged  in  a  line  in  the  same 
way  as  in  a  straight  tube.  In  the  last  whorl  of  the 
spiral,  the  diameter  would  be  too  great  for  a  single  row. 
Then  longitudinal  partitions  are  added  to  the  transverse 
partitions,  the  whole  resulting  in  cells  of  unequal  dimen- 
sions in  which  males  predominate,  mixed  with  a  few 
females  in  the  lower  stories.  The  sequence  of  the  sexes 
is  therefore  what  it  would  be  in  a  straight  tube  and  espe- 
cially in  a  tube  with  a  wide  bore,  where  the  partitioning 
is  complicated  by  subdivisions  on  the  same  level.  A 
single  Snail-shell  contains  room  for  six  or  eight  cells. 
A  large,  rough  earthen  stopper  finishes  the  nest  at  the 
entrance  to  the  shell. 

As  a  dwelling  of  this  sort  could  show  us  nothing  new, 
I  chose  for  my  swarm  the  Garden  Snail  (Helix  ccespi- 
fow),  whose  shell,  shaped  like  a  small  swollen  Ammonite, 
widens  by  slow  degrees,  the  diameter  of  the  usable  por- 
tion, right  up  to  the  mouth,  being  hardly  greater  than 
that  required  by  a  male  Osmia-cocoon.  Moreover,  the 
widest  part,  in  which  a  female  might  find  room,  has  to 
receive  a  thick  stopping-plug,  below  which  there  will 
often  be  a  free  space.  Under  all  these  conditions,  the 
house  will  hardly  suit  any  but  males  arranged  one  after 
the  other. 

The  collection  of  shells  placed  at  the  foot  of  each  hive 
includes  specimens  of  different  sizes.  The  smallest  are 


262       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

1 8  millimeters  *  in  diameter  and  the  largest  24  milli- 
meters.2 There  is  room  for  two  cocoons,  or  three  at 
most,  according  to  their  dimensions. 

Now  these  shells  were  used  by  my  visitors  without 
any  hesitation,  perhaps  even  with  more  eagerness  than 
the  glass  tubes,  whose  slippery  sides  might  easily  be  a 
little  annoying  to  the  Bee.  Some  of  them  were  occupied 
on  the  first  few  days  of  the  laying;  and  the  Osmia  who 
had  started  with  a  home  of  this  sort  would  pass  next  to 
a  second  Snail-shell,  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of 
the  first,  to  a  third,  a  fourth  and  others  still,  always  close 
together,  until  her  ovaries  were  emptied.  The  whole 
family  of  one  mother  would  thus  be  lodged  in  Snail- 
shells  which  were  duly  marked  with  the  date  of  the  lay- 
ing and  a  description  of  the  worker.  The  faithful  ad- 
herents of  the  Snail-shell  were  in  the  minority.  The 
greater  number  left  the  tubes  to  come  to  the  shells  and 
then  went  back  from  the  shells  to  the  tubes.  All,  after 
filling  the  spiral  staircase  with  two  or  three  cells,  closed 
the  house  with  a  thick  earthen  stopper  on  a  level  with  the 
opening.  It  was  a  long  and  troublesome  task,  in  which 
the  Osmia  displayed  all  her  patience  as  a  mother  and 
all  her  talents  as  a  plasterer. 

When  the  pupae  are  sufficiently  matured,  I  proceed  to 
examine  these  elegant  abodes.  The  contents  fill  me  with 
joy :  they  fulfil  my  anticipations  to  the  letter.  The  great, 
the  very  great  majority  of  the  cocoons  turn  out  to  be 
males;  here  and  there,  in  the  bigger  cells,  a  few  rare 

1 .7  inch. —  Translator's  Note. 
2 .936  inch. —  Translator's  Note. 


THE  OSMLE  263 

females  appear.  The  smallness  of  the  space  has  almost 
done  away  with  the  stronger  sex.  This  result  is  demon- 
strated by  the  sixty-eight  Snail-shells  colonized.  But,  of 
this  total  number,  I  must  use  only  those  series  which  re- 
ceived an  entire  laying  and  were  occupied  by  the  same 
Osmia  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  egg-season. 
Here  are  a  few  examples,  taken  from  among  the  most 
conclusive. 

From  the  6th  of  May,  when  she  started  operations, 
to  the  25th  of  May,  the  date  at  which  her  laying  ceased, 
one  Osmia  occupied  seven  Snail-shells  in  succession. 
Her  family  consists  of  fourteen  cocoons,  a  number  very 
near  the  average ;  and,  of  these  fourteen  cocoons,  twelve 
belong  to  males  and  only  two  to  females. 

Another,  between  the  9th  and  27th  of  May,  stocked 
six  Snail-shells  with  a  family  of  thirteen,  including  ten 
males  and  three  females. 

A  third,  between  the  2nd  and  2Qth  of  May  colonized 
eleven  Snail-shells,  a  prodigious  task.  This  industrious 
one  was  also  exceedingly  prolific.  She  supplied  me  with 
a  family  of  twenty-six,  the  largest  which  I  have  ever  ob- 
tained from  one  Osmia.  Well,  this  abnormal  progeny 
consisted  of  twenty-five  males  and  one  female. 

There  is  no  need  to  go  on,  after  this  magnificent  exam- 
ple, especially  as  the  other  series  would  all,  without  ex- 
ception, give  us  the  same  result.  Two  facts  are  immedi- 
ately obvious :  the  Osmia  is  able  to  reverse  the  order  of 
her  laying  and  to  start  with  a  more  or  less  long  series  of 
males  before  producing  any  females.  There  is  some- 
thing better  still ;  and  this  is  the  proposition  which  I  was 


264       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

particularly  anxious  to  prove:  the  female  sex  can  be 
permuted  with  the  male  sex  and  can  be  permuted  to  the 
point  of  disappearing  altogether.  We  see  this  especially 
in  the  third  case,  where  the  presence  of  a  solitary  female 
in  a  family  of  twenty-six  is  due  to  the  somewhat  larger 
diameter  of  the  corresponding  Snail-shell. 

There  would  still  remain  the  inverse  permutation :  to 
obtain  only  females  and  no  males,  or  very  few.  The 
first  permutation  makes  the  second  seem  very  probable, 
although  I  cannot  as  yet  conceive  a  means  of  realizing 
it.  The  only  condition  which  I  can  regulate  is  the  dimen- 
sions of  the  home.  When  the  rooms  are  small,  the  males 
abound  and  the  females  tend  to  disappear.  With  gener- 
ous quarters,  the  converse  would  not  take  place.  I 
should  obtain  females  and  afterwards  an  equal  number  of 
males,  confined  in  small  cells  which,  in  case  of  need, 
would  be  bounded  by  numerous  partitions.  The  factor 
of  space  does  not  enter  into  the  question  here.  What 
artifice  can  we  then  employ  to  provoke  this  second  permu- 
tation? So  far,  I  can  think  of  nothing  that  is  worth 
attempting. 

It  is  time  to  conclude.  Leading  a  retired  life,  in  the 
solitude  of  a  village,  having  quite  enough  to  do  with 
patiently  and  obscurely  plowing  my  humble  furrow,  I 
know  little  about  modern  scientific  views.  In  my  young 
days  I  had  a  passionate  longing  for  books  and  found  it 
difficult  to  procure  them;  to-day,  when  I  could  almost 
have  them  if  I  wanted,  I  am  ceasing  to  wish  for  them. 
It  is  what  usually  happens  as  life  goes  on.  I  do  not 


THE  OSMLE  265 

therefore  know  what  may  have  been  done  in  the  direc- 
tion whither  this  study  of  the  sexes  has  led  me.  If  I 
am  stating  propositions  that  are  really  new  or  at  least 
more  comprehensive  than  the  propositions  already  known, 
my  words  will  perhaps  sound  heretical.  No  matter:  as 
a  simple  translator  of  facts,  I  do  not  hesitate  to  make 
my  statement,  being  fully  persuaded  that  time  will  turn 
my  heresy  into  orthodoxy.  I  will  therefore  recapitulate 
my  conclusions. 

Bees  lay  their  eggs  in  series  of  first  females  and  then 
males,  when  the  two  sexes  are  of  different  sizes  and  de- 
mand an  unequal  quantity  of  nourishment.  When  the 
two  sexes  are  alike  in  size,  as  in  the  case  of  Latreille's 
Osmia,  the  same  sequence  may  occur,  but  less  regularly. 

This  dual  arrangement  disappears  when  the  place 
chosen  for  the  nest  is  not  large  enough  to  contain  the 
entire  laying.  We  then  see  broken  layings,  beginning 
with  females  and  ending  with  males. 

The  egg,  as  it  issues  from  the  ovary,  has  not  yet  a 
fixed  sex.  The  final  impress  that  produces  the  sex  is 
given  at  the  moment  of  laying,  or  a  little  before. 

So  as  to  be  able  to  give  each  larva  the  amount  of  space 
and  food  that  suits  it  according  as  it  is  male  or  female, 
the  mother  can  choose  the  sex  of  the  egg  which  she  is 
about  to  lay.  To  meet  the  conditions  of  the  building, 
which  is  often  the  work  of  another  or  else  a  natural 
retreat  that  admits  of  little  or  no  alteration,  she  lays 
either  a  male  egg  or  a  female  egg  as  she  pleases.  The 
distribution  of  the  sexes  depends  upon  herself.  Should 


266       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

circumstances  require  it,  the  order  of  the  laying  can  be 
reversed  and  begin  with  males;  lastly,  the  entire  laying 
can  contain  only  one  sex. 

The  same  privilege  is  possessed  by  the  predatory 
Hymenoptera,  the  Wasps,  at  least  by  those  in  whom  the 
two  sexes  are  of  a  different  size  and  consequently  require 
an  amount  of  nourishment  that  is  larger  in  the  one  case 
than  in  the  other.  The  mother  must  know  the  sex  of  the 
egg  which  she  is  going  to  lay ;  she  must  be  able  to  choose 
the  sex  of  that  egg  so  that  each  larva  may  obtain  its 
proper  portion  of  food. 

Generally  speaking,  when  the  sexes  are  of  different 
sizes,  every  insect  that  collects  food  and  prepares  or 
selects  a  dwelling  for  its  offspring  must  be  able  to  choose 
the  sex  of  the  egg  in  order  to  satisfy  without  mistake  the 
conditions  imposed  upon  it. 

The  question  remains  how  this  optional  assessment 
of  the  sexes  is  effected.  I  know  absolutely  nothing  about 
it.  If  I  should  ever  learn  anything  about  this  delicate 
point,  I  shall  owe  it  to  some  happy  chance  for  which  I 
must  wait,  or  rather  watch,  patiently. 

Then  what  explanation  shall  I  give  of  the  wonderful 
facts  which  I  have  set  forth?  Why,  none,  absolutely 
none.  I  do  not  explain  facts,  I  relate  them.  Growing 
daily  more  skeptical  of  the  interpretations  suggested  to 
me  and  more  hesitating  as  to  those  which  I  myself  may 
have  to  suggest,  the  more  I  observe  and  experiment,  the 
more  clearly  I  see  rising  out  of  the  black  mists  of  possi- 
bility an  enormous  note  of  interrogation. 

Dear  insects,  my  study  of  you  has  sustained  me  and 


THE  OSMLE  267 

continues  to  sustain  me  in  my  heaviest  trials.  I  must 
take  leave  of  you  for  to-day.  The  ranks  are  thinning 
around  me  and  the  long  hopes  have  fled.  Shall  I  be 
able  to  speak  of  you  again  ?  * 

1  This  forms  the  closing  paragraph  of  Vol.  Ill  of  the  Souvenirs 
entomologiques,  of  which  the  author  lived  to  publish  seven  more 
volumes,  containing  over  2,500  pages  and  nearly  850,000  words. — 
Translator's  Note. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   GLOW-WORM 

FEW  insects  in  our  climes  vie  in  popular  fame  with  the 
Glow-worm,  that  curious  little  animal  which,  to  celebrate 
the  little  joys  of  life,  kindles  a  beacon  at  its  tail-end. 
Who  does  not  know  it,  at  least  by  name  ?  Who  has  not 
seen  it  roam  amid  the  grass,  like  a  spark  fallen  from  the 
moon  at  its  full?  The  Greeks  of  old  called  it  Aa^ou/ais, 
meaning,  the  bright-tailed.  Science  employs  the  same 
term:  it  calls  it  the  lantern-bearer,  Lampyris  noctiluca, 
Lin.  In  this  case  the  common  name  is  inferior  to  the 
scientific  phrase,  which,  when  translated,  becomes  both 
expressive  and  accurate. 

In  fact,  we  might  easily  cavil  at  the  word  "  worm." 
The  Lampyris  is  not  a  worm  at  all,  not  even  in  general 
appearance.  He  has  six  short  legs,  which  he  well  knows 
how  to  use;  he  is  a  gad-about,  a  trot-about.  In  the 
adult  state  the  male  is  correctly  garbed  in  wing-cases,  like 
the  true  Beetle  that  he  is.  The  female  is  an  ill-favored 
thing  who  knows  naught  of  the  delights  of  flying:  all 
her  life  long  she  retains  the  larval  shape,  which,  for  the 
rest,  is  similar  to  that  of  the  male,  who  himself  is  imper- 
fect so  long  as  he  has  not  achieved  the  maturity  that 
comes  with  pairing-time.  Even  in  this  initial  stage  the 
word  "  worm  "  is  out  of  place.  We  French  have  the 
expression  "  Naked  as  a  worm  "  to  point  to  the  lack  of 
268 


THE  GLOW-WORM  269 

any  defensive  covering.  Now  the  Lampyris  is  clothed, 
that  is  to  say,  he  wears  an  epidermis  of  some  consistency ; 
moreover,  he  is  rather  richly  colored:  his  body  is  dark 
brown  all  over,  set  off  with  pale  pink  on  the  thorax, 
especially  on  the  lower  surface.  Finally,  each  segment 
is  decked  at  the  hinder  edge  with  two  spots  of  a  fairly 
bright  red.  A  costume  like  this  was  never  worn  by 
a  worm. 

Let  us  leave  this  ill-chosen  denomination  and  ask  our- 
selves what  the  Lampyris  feeds  upon.  That  master  of 
the  art  of  gastronomy,  Brillat-Savarin,  said :  "  Show 
me  what  you  eat  and  I  will  tell  you  what  yjou  are." 

A  similar  question  should  be  addressed,  by  way  of 
a  preliminary,  to  every  insect  whose  habits  we  propose 
to  study,  for,  from  the  least  to  the  greatest  in  the 
zoological  progression,  the  stomach  sways  the  world; 
the  data  supplied  by  food  are  the  chief  of  all  the  docu- 
ments of  life.  Well,  in  spite  of  his  innocent  appear- 
ance, the  Lampyris  is  an  eater  of  flesh,  a  hunter  of  game ; 
and  he  follows  his  calling  with  rare  villainy.  His  regu- 
lar prey  is  the  Snail. 

This  detail  has  long  been  known  to  entomologists. 
What  is  not  so  well  known,  what  is  not  known  at  all  yet, 
to  judge  by  what  I  have  read,  is  the  curious  method  of 
attack,  of  which  I  have  seen  no  other  instance  anywhere. 

Before  he  begins  to  feast,  the  Glow-worm  administers 
an  anaesthetic :  he  chloroforms  his  victim,  rivaling  in  the 
process  the  wonders  of  our  modern  surgery,  which  ren- 
ders the  patient  insensible  before  operating  on  him.  The 
usual  game  is  a  small  Snail  hardly  the  size  of  a  cherry, 


27o       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

such  as,  for  instance,  Helix  variabilis,  Drap.,  who,  in 
the  hot  weather,  collects  in  clusters  on  the  stiff  stubble 
and  other  long,  dry  stalks  by  the  road-side  and  there 
remains  motionless,  in  profound  meditation,  throughout 
the  scorching  summer  days.  It  is  in  some  such  resting- 
place  as  this  that  I  have  often  been  privileged  to  light 
upon  the  Lampyris  banqueting  on  the  prey  which  he  had 
just  paralyzed  on  its  shaky  support  by  his  surgical 
artifices. 

But  he  is  familiar  with  other  preserves.  He  frequents 
the  edges  of  the  irrigating  ditches,  with  their  cool  soil, 
their  varied  vegetation,  a  favorite  haunt  of  the  Mollusc. 
Here,  he  treats  the  game  on  the  ground ;  and,  under  these 
conditions,  it  is  easy  for  me  to  rear  him  at  home  and  to 
follow  the  operator's  performance  down  to  the  smallest 
detail. 

I  will  try  to  make  the  reader  a  witness  of  the  strange 
sight.  I  place  a  little  grass  in  a  wide  glass  jar.  In  this 
I  install  a  few  Glow-worms  and  a  provision  of  snails  of 
a  suitable  size,  neither  too  large  nor  too  small,  chiefly 
Helix  variabilis.  We  must  be  patient  and  wait.  Above 
all,  we  must  keep  an  assiduous  watch,  for  the  desired 
events  come  unexpectedly  and  do  not  last  long. 

Here  we  are  at  last.  The  Glow-worm  for  a  moment 
investigates  the  prey,  which,  according  to  its  habit,  is 
wholly  withdrawn  in  the  shell,  except  the  edge  of  the 
mantle,  which  projects  slightly.  Then  the  hunter's 
weapon  is  drawn,  a  very  simple  weapon,  but  one  that 
cannot  be  plainly  perceived  without  the  aid  of  a  lens.  It 
consists  of  two  mandibles  bent  back  powerfully  into  a 


THE  GLOW-WORM  271 

hook,  very  sharp  and  as  thin  as  a  hair.  The  microscope 
reveals  the  presence  of  a  slender  groove  running  through- 
out the  length.  And  that  is  all. 

The  insect  repeatedly  taps  the  Snail's  mantle  with  its 
instrument.  It  all  happens  with  such  gentleness  as  to 
suggest  kisses  rather  than  bites.  As  children,  teasing 
one  another,  we  used  to  talk  of  "  tweaksies  "  to  express 
a  slight  squeeze  of  the  finger-tips,  something  more  like 
a  tickling  than  a  serious  pinch.  Let  us  use  that  word. 
In  conversing  with  animals,  language  loses  nothing  by 
remaining  juvenile.  It  is  the  right  way  for  the  simple 
to  understand  one  another. 

The  Lampyris  doles  out  his  tweaks.  He  distributes 
them  methodically,  without  hurrying,  and  takes  a  brief 
rest  after  each  of  them,  as  though  he  wished  to  ascer- 
tain the  effect  produced.  Their  number  is  not  great: 
half  a  dozen,  at  most,  to  subdue  the  prey  and  deprive  it 
of  all  power  of  movement.  That  other  pinches  are  ad- 
ministered later,  at  the  time  of  eating,  seems  very  likely, 
but  I  cannot  say  anything  for  certain,  because  the  sequel 
escapes  me.  The  first  few,  however  —  there  are  never 
many  —  are  enough  to  impart  inertia  and  loss  of  all 
feeling  to  the  Mollusc,  thanks  to  the  prompt,  I  might  al- 
most say  lightning,  methods  of  the  Lampyris,  who,  be- 
yond a  doubt,  instils  some  poison  or  other  by  means  of 
his  grooved  hooks. 

Here  is  the  proof  of  the  sudden  efficacy  of  those 
twitches,  so  mild  in  appearance:  I  take  the  Snail  from 
the  Lampyris,  who  has  operated  on  the  edge  of  the  man- 
tle some  four  or  five  times.  I  prick  him  with  a  fine 


272       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

needle  in  the  fore-part,  which  the  animal,  shrunk  into  its 
shell,  still  leaves  exposed.  There  is  no  quiver  of  the 
wounded  tissues,  no  reaction  against  the  brutality  of  the 
needle.  A  corpse  itself  could  not  give  fewer  signs  of 
life. 

Here  is  something  even  more  conclusive :  chance  occa- 
sionally gives  me  Snails  attacked  by  the  Lampyris  while 
they  are  creeping  along,  the  foot  slowly  crawling,  the 
tentacles  swollen  to  their  full  extent.  A  few  disordered 
movements  betray  a  brief  excitement  on  the  part  of  the 
Mollusc  and  then  everything  ceases:  the  foot  no  longer 
slugs;  the  front  part  loses  its  graceful  swan-neck  curve; 
the  tentacles  become  limp  and  give  way  under  their  own 
weight,  dangling  feebly  like  a  broken  stick.  This  con- 
dition persists. 

Is  the  Snail  really  dead  ?  Not  at  all,  for  I  can  resusci- 
tate the  seeming  corpse  at  will.  After  two  or  three  days 
of  that  singular  condition  which  is  no  longer  life  and 
yet  not  death,  I  isolate  the  patient  and,  though  this  is  not 
really  essential  to  success,  I  give  him  a  douche  which  will 
represent  the  shower  so  dear  to  the  able-bodied  Mollusc. 
In  about  a  couple  of  days,  my  prisoner,  but  lately  injured 
by  the  Glow-worm's  treachery,  is  restored  to  his  normal 
state.  He  revives,  in  a  manner;  he  recovers  movement 
and  sensibility.  He  is  affected  by  the  stimulus  of  a 
needle;  he  shifts  his  place,  crawls,  puts  out  his  tentacles, 
as  though  nothing  unusual  had  occurred.  The  general 
torpor,  a  sort  of  deep  drunkenness,  has  vanished  out- 
right. The  dead  returns  to  life.  What  name  shall  we 
give  to  that  form  of  existence  which,  for  a  time,  abolishes 


THE  GLOW-WORM  273 

the  power  of  movement  and  the  sense  of  pain?  I  can 
see  but  one  that  is  approximately  suitable:  anesthesia. 
The  exploits  of  a  host  of  Wasps  whose  flesh-eating  grubs 
are  provided  with  meat  that  is  motionless  though  not 
dead  have  taught  us  the  skilful  art  of  the  paralyzing 
insect,  which  numbs-  the  locomotory  nerve-centers  with 
its  venom.  We  have  now  a  humble  little  animal  that 
first  produces  complete  anesthesia  in  its  patient.  Hu- 
man science  did  not  in  reality  invent  this  art,  which  is 
one  of  the  wonders  of  latter-day  surgery.  Much  earlier, 
far  back  in  the  centuries,  the  Lampyris  and,  apparently, 
others  knew  it  as  well.  The  animal's  knowledge  had  a 
long  start  of  ours ;  the  method  alone  has  changed.  Our 
operators  proceed  by  making  us  inhale  the  fumes  of 
ether  or  chloroform;  the  insect  proceeds  by  injecting  a 
special  virus  that  comes  from  the  mandibular  fangs  in 
infinitesimal  doses.  Might  we  not  one  day  be  able  to 
benefit  from  this  hint?  What  glorious  discoveries  the 
future  would  have  in  store  for  us,  if  we  understood  the 
beastie's  secrets  better! 

What  does  the  Lampyris  want  with  anesthetical  talent 
against  a  harmless  and  moreover  eminently  peaceful 
adversary,  who  would  never  begin  the  quarrel  of  his  own 
accord?  I  think  I  see.  We  find  in  Algeria  a  beetle 
known  as  Drilus  maroccanus,  who,  though  non-luminous, 
approaches  our  Glow-worm  in  his  organization  and  espe- 
cially in  his  habits.  He,  too,  feeds  on  Land  Molluscs. 
His  prey  is  a  Cyclostome  with  a  graceful  spiral  shell, 
tightly  closed  with  a  stony  lid  which  is  attached  to  the 
animal  by  a  powerful  muscle.  The  lid  is  a  movable  door 


274       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

which  is  quickly  shut  by  the  inmate's  mere  withdrawal 
into  his  house  and  as  easily  opened  when  the  hermit  goes 
forth.  With  this  system  of  closing,  the  abode  becomes 
inviolable;  and  the  Drilus  knows  it. 

Fixed  to  the  surface  of  the  shell  by  an  adhesive  appa- 
ratus whereof  the  Lampyris  will  presently  show  us  the 
equivalent,  he  remains  on  the  look-out,  waiting,  if  neces- 
sary, for  whole  days  at  a  time.  At  last  the  need  of  air 
and  food  obliges  the  besieged  non-combatant  to  show 
himself:  at  least,  the  door  is  set  slightly  ajar.  That  is 
enough.  The  Drilus  is  on  the  spot  and  strikes  his  blow. 
The  door  can  no  longer  be  closed;  and  the  assailant  is 
henceforth  master  of  the  fortress.  Our  first  impression 
is  that  the  muscle  moving  the  lid  has  been  cut  with  a 
quick-acting  pair  of  shears.  This  idea  must  be  dis- 
missed. The  Drilus  is  not  well  enough  equipped  with 
jaws  to  gnaw  through  a  fleshy  mass  so  promptly.  The 
operation  has  to  succeed  at  once,  at  the  first  touch:  if 
not,  the  animal  attacked  would  retreat,  still  in  full  vigor, 
and  the  siege  must  be  recommenced,  as  arduous  as  ever, 
exposing  the  insect  to  fasts  indefinitely  prolonged.  Al- 
though I  have  never  come  across  the  Drilus,  who  is  a 
stranger  to  my  district,  I  conjecture  a  method  of  attack 
very  similar  to  that  of  the  Glow-worm.  Like  our  own 
Snail-eater,  the  Algerian  insect  does  not  cut  its  victim 
into  small  pieces:  it  renders  it  inert,  chloroforms  it  by 
means  of  a  few  tweaks  which  are  easily  distributed,  if  the 
lid  but  half -opens  for  a  second.  That  will  do.  The  be- 
sieger thereupon  enters  and,  in  perfect  quiet,  consumes  a 


THE  GLOW-WORM  275 

prey  incapable  of  the  least  muscular  effort.  That  is  how 
I  see  things  by  the  unaided  light  of  logic. 

Let  us  now  return  to  the  Glow-worm.  When  the 
Snail  is  on  the  ground,  creeping,  or  even  shrunk  into  his 
shell,  the  attack  never  presents  any  difficulty.  The  shell 
possesses  no  lid  and  leaves  the  hermit's  fore-part  to  a 
great  extent  exposed.  Here,  on  the  edges  of  the  mantle, 
contracted  by  the  fear  of  danger,  the  Mollusc  is  vulner- 
able and  incapable  of  defense.  But  it  also  frequently 
happens  that  the  Snail  occupies  a  raised  position,  cling- 
ing to  the  tip  of  a  grass-stalk  or  perhaps  to  the  smooth 
surface  of  a  stone.  This  support  serves  him  as  a  tem- 
porary lid ;  it  wards  off  the  aggression  of  any  churl  who 
might  try  to  molest  the  inhabitant  of  the  cabin,  always 
on  the  express  condition  that  no  slit  show  itself  anywhere 
on  the  protecting  circumference.  If,  on  the  other  hand, 
in  the  frequent  case  when  the  shell  does  not  fit  its  sup- 
port quite  closely,  some  point,  however  tiny,  be  left  un- 
covered, this  is  enough  for  the  subtle  tools  of  the  Lam- 
pyris,  who  just  nibbles  at  the  Mollusc  and  at  once  plunges 
him  into  that  profound  immobility  which  favors  the  tran- 
quil proceedings  of  the  consumer. 

These  proceedings  are  marked  by  extreme  prudence. 
The  assailant  has  to  handle  his  victim  gingerly,  without 
provoking  contractions  which  would  make  the  Snail  let 
go  his  support  and,  at  the  very  least,  precipitate  him 
from  the  tall  stalk  whereon  he  is  blissfully  slumbering. 
Now  any  game  falling  to  the  ground  would  seem  to  be 
so  much  sheer  loss,  for  the  Glow-worm  has  no  great  zeal 


276       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

for  hunting-expeditions:  he  profits  by  the  discoveries 
which  good  luck  sends  him,  without  undertaking  assidu- 
ous searches.  It  is  essential,  therefore,  that  the  equi- 
librium of  a  prize  perched  on  the  top  of  a  stalk  and  only 
just  held  in  position  by  a  touch  of  glue  should  be  dis- 
turbed as  little  as  possible  during  the  onslaught;  it  is 
necessary  that  the  assailant  should  go  to  work  with  infi- 
nite circumspection  and  without  producing  pain,  lest  any 
muscular  reaction  should  provoke  a  fall  and  endanger 
the  prize.  As  we  see,  sudden  and  profound  anesthesia 
is  an  excellent  means  of  enabling  the  Lampyris  to  attain 
his  object,  which  is  to  consume  his  prey  in  perfect  quiet. 

What  is  his  manner  of  consuming  it?  Does  he  really 
eat,  that  is  to  say,  does  he  divide  his  food  piecemeal, 
does  he  carve  it  into  minute  particles,  which  are  after- 
wards ground  by  a  chewing-apparatus?  I  think  not. 
I  never  see  a  trace  of  solid  nourishment  on  my  captives' 
mouths.  The  Glow-worm  does  not  eat  in  the  strict 
sense  of  the  word :  he  drinks  his  fill ;  he  feeds  on  a  thin 
gruel  into  which  he  transforms  his  prey  by  a  method 
recalling  that  of  the  maggot.  Like  the  flesh-eating  grub 
of  the  Fly,  he  too  is  able  to  digest  before  consuming; 
he  liquefies  his  prey  before  feeding  on  it. 

This  is  how  things  happen :  a  Snail  has  been  rendered 
insensible  by  the  Glow-worm.  The  operator  is  nearly 
always  alone,  even  when  the  prize  is  a  large  one,  like 
the  common  Snail,  'Helix  aspersa.  Soon  a  number  of 
guests  hasten  up  —  two,  three,  or  more  —  and,  without 
any  quarrel  with  the  real  proprietor,  all  alike  fall  to. 
Let  us  leave  them  to  themselves  for  a  couple  of  days 


THE  GLOW-WORM  277 

and  then  turn  the  shell,  with  the  opening  downwards. 
The  contents  flow  out  as  easily  as  would  soup  from  an 
overturned  saucepan.  When  the  sated  diners  retire 
from  this  gruel,  only  insignificant  leavings  remain. 

The  matter  is  obvious.  By  repeated  tiny  bites,  similar 
to  the  tweaks  which  we  saw  distributed  at  the  outset, 
the  flesh  of  the  Mollusc  is  converted  into  a  gruel  on 
which  the  various  banqueters  nourish  themselves  without 
distinction;  each  working  at  the  broth  by  means  of  some 
special  pepsine  and  each  taking  his  own  mouthfuls  of  it 
In  consequence  of  this  method,  which  first  converts  the 
food  into  a  liquid,  the  Glow-worm's  mouth  must  be  very 
feebly  armed  apart  from  the  two  fangs  which  sting  the 
patient  and  inject  the  anesthetic  poison  and  at  the  same 
time,  no  doubt,  the  serum  capable  of  turning  the  solid 
flesh  into  fluid.  Those  two  tiny  implements,  which  can 
just  be  examined  through  the  lens,  must,  it  seems,  have 
some  other  object.  They  are  hollow,  and  in  this  re- 
semble those  of  the  Ant-lion,  who  sucks  and  drains  her 
capture  without  having  to  divide  it;  but  there  is  this 
great  difference,  that  the  Ant-lion  leaves  copious  rem- 
nants, which  are  afterwards  flung  outside  the  funnel- 
shaped  trap  dug  in  the  sand,  whereas  the  Glow-worm, 
that  expert  liquefier,  leaves  nothing,  or  next  to  nothing. 
With  similar  tools,  the  one  simply  sucks  the  blood  of  his 
prey  and  the  other  turns  every  morsel  of  his  to  account, 
thanks  to  a  preliminary  liquefaction. 

And  this  is  done  with  exquisite  precision,  though  the 
equilibrium  is  sometimes  anything  but  steady.  My 
rearing-glasses  supply  me  with  magnificent  examples. 


278       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

Crawling  up  the  sides,  the  Snails  imprisoned  in  my 
apparatus  sometimes  reach  the  top,  which  is  closed  with 
a  glass  pane,  and  fix  themselves  to  it  with  a  speck  of 
glair.  This  is  a  mere  temporary  halt,  in  which  the  Mol- 
lusc is  miserly  with  his  adhesive  product,  and  the  merest 
shake  is  enough  to  loosen  the  shell  and  send  it  to  the 
bottom  of  the  jar. 

Now  it  is  not  unusual  for  the  Glow-worm  to  hoist 
himself  up  there,  with  the  help  of  a  certain  climbing- 
organ  that  makes  up  for  his  weak  legs.  He  selects  his 
quarry,  makes  a  minute  inspection  of  it  to  find  an  en- 
trance-slit, nibbles  at  it  a  little,  renders  it  insensible  and, 
without  delay,  proceeds  to  prepare  the  gruel  which  he 
will  consume  for  days  on  end. 

When  he  leaves  the  table,  the  shell  is  found  to  be  ab- 
solutely empty;  and  yet  this  shell,  which  was  fixed  to 
the  glass  by  a  very  faint  stickiness,  has  not  come  loose, 
has  not  even  shifted  its  position  in  the  smallest  degree : 
without  any  protest  from  the  hermit  gradually  converted 
into  broth,  it  has  been  drained  on  the  very  spot  at  which 
the  first  attack  was  delivered.  These  small  details  tell 
us  how  promptly  the  anesthetic  bite  takes  effect;  they 
teach  us  how  dexterously  the  Glow-worm  treats  his  Snail 
without  causing  him  to  fall  from  a  very  slippery,  vertical 
support  and  without  even  shaking  him  on  his  slight  line 
of  adhesion. 

Under  these  conditions  of  equilibrium,  the  operator's 
short,  clumsy  legs  are  obviously  not  enough;  a  special 
accessory  apparatus  is  needed  to  defy  the  danger  of  slip- 
ping and  to  seize  the  unseizable.  And  this  apparatus  the 


THE  GLOW-WORM 

Lampyris  possesses.  At  the  hinder  end  of  the  animal 
we  see  a  white  spot  which  the  lens  separates  into  some 
dozen  short,  fleshy  appendages,  sometimes  gathered  into 
a  cluster,  sometimes  spread  into  a  rosette.  There  is 
your  organ  of  adhesion  and  locomotion.  If  he  would 
fix  himself  somewhere,  even  on  a  very  smooth  surface, 
such  as  a  grass-stalk,  the  Glow-worm  opens  his  rosette 
and  spreads  it  wide  on  the  support,  to  which  it  adheres 
by  its  own  stickiness.  The  same  organ,  rising  and  fall- 
ing, opening  and  closing,  does  much  to  assist  the  act  of 
progression.  In  short,  the  Glow-worm  is  a  new  sort  of 
self-propelled  cripple,  who  decks  his  hind-quarters  with 
a  dainty  white  rose,  a  kind  of  hand  with  twelve  fingers, 
not  jointed,  but  moving  in  every  direction:  tubular  fin- 
gers which  do  not  seize,  but  stick. 

The  same  organ  serves  another  purpose:  that  of  a 
toilet-sponge  and  brush.  At  a  moment  of  rest,  after  a 
meal,  the  Glow-worm  passes  and  repasses  the  said  brush 
over  his  head,  back,  sides  and  hinder  parts,  a  perform- 
ance made  possible  by  the  flexibility  of  his  spine.  This 
is  done  point  by  point,  from  one  end  of  the  body  to  the 
other,  with  a  scrupulous  persistency  that  proves  the  great 
interest  which  he  takes  in  the  operation.  What  is  his 
object  in  thus  sponging  himself,  in  dusting  and  polishing 
himself  so  carefully?  It  is  a  question,  apparently,  of 
removing  a  few  atoms  of  dust  or  else  some  traces  of 
viscidity  that  remain  from  the  evil  contact  with  the  Snail. 
A  wash  and  brush-up  is  not  superfluous  when  one  leaves 
the  tub  in  which  the  Mollusc  has  been  treated. 

If  the  Glow-worm  possessed  no  other  talent  than  that 


280       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

of  chloroforming  his  prey  by  means  of  a  few  tweaks  re- 
sembling kisses,  he  would  be  unknown  to  the  vulgar 
herd;  but  he  also  knows  how  to  light  himself  like  a 
beacon;  he  shines,  which  is  an  excellent  manner  of 
achieving  fame.  Let  us  consider  more  particularly  the 
female,  who,  while  retaining  her  larval  shape,  becomes 
marriageable  and  glows  at  her  best  during  the  hottest 
part  of  summer.  The  lighting-apparatus  occupies  the 
last  three  segments  of  the  abdomen.  On  each  of  the 
first  two  it  takes  the  form,  on  the  ventral  surface,  of  a 
wide  belt  covering  almost  the  whole  of  the  arch;  on  the 
third  the  luminous  part  is  much  less  and  consists  simply 
of  two  small  crescent-shaped  markings,  or  rather  two 
spots  which  shine  through  to  the  back  and  are  visible 
both  above  and  below  the  animal.  Belts  and  spots  emit 
a  glorious  white  light,  delicately  tinged  with  blue.  The 
general  lighting  of  the  Glow-worm  thus  comprises  two 
groups :  first,  the  wide  belts  of  the  two  segments  preced- 
ing the  last;  secondly,  the  two  spots  of  the  final  segments. 
The  two  belts,  the  exclusive  attribute  of  the  marriage- 
able female,  are  the  parts  richest  in  light:  to  glorify  her 
wedding,  the  future  mother  dons  her  brightest  gauds; 
she  lights  her  two  resplendent  scarves.  But,  before  that, 
from  the  time  of  the  hatching,  she  had  only  the  modest 
rush-light  of  the  stern.  This  efflorescence  of  light  is  the 
equivalent  of  the  final  metamorphosis,  which  is  usually 
represented  by  the  gift  of  wings  and  flight.  Its  brilliance 
heralds  the  pairing-time.  Wings  and  flight  there  will  be 
none :  the  female  retains  her  humble  larval  form,  but  she 
kindles  her  blazing  beacon. 


THE  GLOW-WORM  281 

The  male,  on  his  side,  is  fully  transformed,  changes 
his  shape,  acquires  wings  and  wing-cases;  nevertheless, 
like  the  female,  he  possesses,  from  the  time  when  he  is 
hatched,  the  pale  lamp  of  the  end  segment.  This  lumi- 
nous aspect  of  the  stern  is  characteristic  of  the  entire 
Glow-worm  tribe,  independently  of  sex  and  season.  It 
appears  upon  the  budding  grub  and  continues  through- 
out life  unchanged.  And  we  must  not  forget  to  add 
that  it  is  visible  on  the  dorsal  as  well  as  on  the  ventral 
surface,  whereas  the  two  large  belts  peculiar  to  the 
female  shine  only  under  the  abdomen. 

My  hand  is  not  so  steady  nor  my  sight  so  good  as 
once  they  were ;  but,  as  far  as  they  allow  me,  I  consult 
anatomy  for  the  structure  of  the  luminous  organs.  I 
take  a  scrap  of  the  epidermis  and  manage  to  separate 
pretty  nearly  half  of  one  of  the  shining  belts.  I  place 
my  preparation  under  the  microscope.  On  the  skin  a 
sort  of  white-wash  lies  spread,  formed  of  a  very  fine, 
granular  substance.  This  is  certainly  the  light-producing 
matter.  To  examine  this  white  layer  more  closely  is 
beyond  the  power  of  my  weary  eyes.  Just  beside  it  is 
a  curious  air-tube,  whose  short  and  remarkably  wide 
stem  branches  suddenly  into  a  sort  of  bushy  tuft  of  very 
delicate  ramifications.  These  creep  over  the  luminous 
sheet,  or  even  dip  into  it.  That  is  all. 

The  luminescence,  therefore,  is  controlled  by  the 
respiratory  organs  and  the  work  produced  is  an  oxidiza- 
tion. The  white  sheet  supplies  the  oxidizable  matter 
and  the  thick  air-tube  spreading  into  a  tufty  bush  dis- 
tributes the  flow  of  air  over  it.  There  remains  the  ques- 


282       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

tion  of  the  substance  whereof  this  sheet  is  formed.  The 
first  suggestion  was  phosphorus,  in  the  chemist's  sense  of 
the  word.  The  Glow-worm  was  calcined  and  treated 
with  the  violent  reagents  that  bring  the  simple  substances 
to  light ;  but  no  one,  so  far  as  I  know,  has  obtained  a  sat- 
isfactory answer  along  these  lines.  Phosphorus  seems  to 
play  no  part  here,  in  spite  of  the  name  of  phosphorescence 
which  is  sometimes  bestowed  upon  the  Glow-worm's 
gleam.  The  answer  lies  elsewhere,  no  one  knows  where. 

We  are  better-informed  as  regards  another  question. 
Has  the  Glow-worm  a  free  control  of  the  light  which 
he  emits?  Can  he  turn  it  on  or  down  or  put  it  out  as 
he  pleases?  Has  he  an  opaque  screen  which  is  drawn 
over  the  flame  at  will,  or  is  that  flame  always  left  ex- 
posed? There  is  no  need  for  any  such  mechanism:  the 
insect  has  something  better  for  its  revolving  light. 

The  thick  air-tube  supplying  the  light-producing  sheet 
increases  the  flow  of  air  and  the  light  is  intensified;  the 
same  tube,  swayed  by  the  animal's  will,  slackens  or  even 
suspends  the  passage  of  air  and  the  light  grows  fainter 
or  even  goes  out.  It  is,  in  short,  the  mechanism  of  a 
lamp  which  is  regulated  by  the  access  of  air  to  the  wick. 

Excitement  can  set  the  attendant  air-duct  in  motion. 
We  must  here  distinguish  between  two  cases:  that  of 
the  gorgeous  scarves,  the  exclusive  ornament  of  the  fe- 
male ripe  for  matrimony,  and  that  of  the  modest  fairy- 
lamp  on  the  last  segment,  which  both  sexes  kindle  at 
any  age.  On  the  second  case,  the  extinction  caused 
by  a  flurry  is  sudden  and  complete,  or  nearly  so.  In 
my  nocturnal  hunts  for  young  Glow-worms,  measuring 


THE  GLOW-WORM  283 

about  5  millimeters  long,1  I  can  plainly  see  the  glimmer 
on  the  blades  of  grass;  but,  should  the  least  false  step 
disturb  a  neighboring  twig,  the  light  goes  out  at  once 
and  the  coveted  insect  becomes  invisible.  Upon  the  full- 
grown  females,  lit  up  with  their  nuptial  scarves,  even 
a  violent  start  has  but  a  slight  effect  and  often  none 
at  all. 

I  fire  a  gun  beside  a  wire-gauze  cage  in  which  I  am 
rearing  my  menagerie  of  females  in  the  open  air.  The 
explosion  produces  no  result.  The  illumination  contin- 
ues, as  bright  and  placid  as  before.  I  take  a  spray  and 
rain  down  a  slight  shower  of  cold  water  upon  the  flock. 
Not  one  of  my  animals  puts  out  its  light;  at  the  very 
most,  there  is  a  brief  pause  in  the  radiance;  and  then 
only  in  some  cases.  I  send  a  puff  of  smoke  from  my 
pipe  into  the  cage.  This  time  the  pause  is  more  marked. 
There  are  even  some  extinctions,  but  these  do  not  last 
long.  Calm  soon  returns  and  the  light  is  renewed  as 
brightly  as  ever.  I  take  some  of  the  captives  in  my 
fingers,  turn  and  return  them,  tease  them  a  little.  The 
illumination  continues  and  is  not  much  diminished,  if 
I  do  not  press  too  hard  with  my  thumb.  At  this  period, 
with  the  pairing  close  at  hand,  the  insect  is  in  all  the 
fervor  of  its  passionate  splendor,  and  nothing  short  of 
very  serious  reasons  would  make  it  put  out  its  signals 
altogether. 

All  things  considered,  there  is  not  a  doubt  but  that 
the  Glow-worm  himself  manages  his  lighting  apparatus, 
extinguishing  and  rekindling  it  at  will;  but  there  is  one 

1.I9S  inch.—  Translator's  Note. 


284       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

point  at  which  the  voluntary  agency  of  the  insect  is 
without  effect.  I  detach  a  strip  of  the  epidermis  show- 
ing one  of  the  luminescent  sheets  and  place  it  in  a  glass 
tube,  which  I  close  with  a  plug  of  damp  wadding,  to  avoid 
an  over-rapid  evaporation.  Well,  this  scrap  of  carcass 
shines  away  merrily,  although  not  quite  as  brilliantly  as 
on  the  living  body. 

Life's  aid  is  now  superfluous.  The  oxidizable  sub- 
stance, the  luminescent  sheet,  is  in  direct  communication 
with  the  surrounding  atmosphere;  the  flow  of  oxygen 
through  an  air-tube  is  not  necessary;  and  the  luminous 
emission  continues  to  take  place,  in  the  same  way  as 
when  it  is  produced  by  the  contact  of  the  air  with  the 
real  phosphorus  of  the  chemists.  Let  us  add  that,  in 
aerated  water,  the  luminousness  continues  as  brilliant 
as  in  the  free  air,  but  that  it  is  extinguished  in  water 
deprived  of  its  air  by  boiling.  No  better  proof  could  be 
found  of  what  I  have  already  propounded,  namely,  that 
the  Glow-worm's  light  is  the  effect  of  a  slow  oxidation. 

The  light  is  white,  calm  and  soft  to  the  eyes  and 
suggests  a  spark  dropped  by  the  full  moon.  Despite 
its  splendor,  it  is  a  very  feeble  illuminant.  If  we  move 
a  Glow-worm  along  a  line  of  print,  in  perfect  darkness, 
we  can  easily  make  out  the  letters,  one  by  one,  and  even 
words,  when  these  are  not  too  long;  but  nothing  more  is 
visible  beyond  a  narrow  zone.  A  lantern  of  this  kind 
soon  tires  the  reader's  patience. 

Suppose  a  group  of  Glow-worms  placed  almost  touch- 
ing one  another.  Each  of  them  sheds  its  glimmer,  which 
ought,  one  would  think,  to  light  up  its  neighbors  by 


i.  THE  GLOW-WORM:  a,  male;  b,  female 

2.  THE  CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR  :  a,  the  caterpillars ;  b,  the  cocoons  of 
their  parasite,  Microgastcr  glomeratus 


THE  GLOW-WORM  285 

.reflection  and  give  us  a  clear  view  of  each  individual 
specimen.  But  not  at  all :  the  luminous  party  is  a  chaos 
in  which  our  eyes  are  unable  to  distinguish  any  definite 
form  at  a  medium  distance.  The  collective  lights  con- 
fuse the  light-bearers  into  one  vague  whole. 

Photography  gives  us  a  striking  proof  of  this.  I  have 
a  score  of  females,  all  at  the  height  of  their  splendor, 
in  a  wire-gauze  cage  in  the  open  air.  A  tuft  of  thyme 
forms  a  grove  in  the  center  of  their  establishment. 
When  night  comes,  my  captives  clamber  to  this  pinnacle 
and  strive  to  show  off  their  luminous  charms  to  the 
best  advantage  at  every  point  of  the  horizon,  thus  form- 
ing along  the  twigs  marvelous  clusters  from  which  I 
expected  magnificent  effects  on  the  photographer's  plates 
and  paper.  My  hopes  were  disappointed.  All  that  I 
obtain  is  white,  shapeless  patches,  denser  here  and  less 
dense  there  according  to  the  numbers  forming  the  group. 
There  is  no  picture  of  the  Glow-worms  themselves;  not 
a  trace  either  of  the  tuft  of  thyme.  For  want  of  satis- 
factory light,  the  glorious  firework  is  represented  by  a 
blurred  splash  of  white  on  a  black  ground. 

The  beacons  of  the  female  Glow-worms  are  evidently 
nuptial  signals,  invitations  to  the  pairing;  but  observe 
that  they  are  lighted  on  the  lower  surface  of  the  abdomen 
and  face  the  ground,  whereas  the  summoned  males, 
whose  flights  are  sudden  and  uncertain,  travel  overhead, 
in  the  air,  sometimes  a  great  way  up.  In  its  normal 
position,  therefore,  the  glittering  lure  is  concealed  from 
the  eyes  of  those  concerned;  it  is  covered  by  the  thick 
bulk  of  the  bride.  The  lantern  ought  really  to  gleam 


286       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

on  the  back  and  not  under  the  belly;  otherwise  the  light 
is  hidden  under  a  bushel. 

The  anomaly  is  corrected  in  a  very  ingenious  fashion, 
for  every  female  has  her  little  wiles  of  coquetry.  At 
nightfall,  every  evening,  my  caged  captives  make  for  the . 
tuft  of  thyme  with  which  I  have  thoughtfully  furnished 
the  prison  and  climb  to  the  top  of  the  upper  branches, 
those  most  in  sight.  Here,  instead  of  keeping  quiet,  as 
they  did  at  the  foot  of  the  bush  just  now,  they  indulge  in 
violent  exercises,  twist  the  tip  of  their  very  flexible 
abdomen,  turn  it  to  one  side,  turn  it  to  the  other,  jerk  it 
in  every  direction.  In  this  way,  the  searchlight  cannot 
fail  to  gleam,  at  one  moment  or  another,  before  the  eyes 
of  every  male  who  goes  a-wooing  in  the  neighborhood, 
whether  on  the  ground  or  in  the  air. 

It  is  very  like  the  working  of  a  revolving  mirror  used 
in  catching  Larks.  If  stationary,  the  little  contrivance 
would  leave  the  bird  indifferent;  turning  and  breaking 
up  its  light  in  rapid  flashes,  it  excites  it. 

While  the  female  Glow-worm  has  her  tricks  for  sum- 
moning her  swains,  the  male,  on  his  side  is  provided 
with  an  optical  apparatus  suited  to  catch  from  afar  the 
least  reflection  of  the  calling  signal.  His  corselet  ex- 
pands into  a  shield  and  overlaps  his  head  considerably 
in  the  form  of  a  peaked  cap  or  a  shade,  the  object  of 
which  appears  to  be  to  limit  the  field  of  vision  and  con- 
centrate the  view  upon  the  luminous  speck  to  be  discerned. 
Under  this  arch  are  the  two  eyes,  which  are  relatively 
enormous,  exceedingly  convex,  shaped  like  a  skull-cap 
and  contiguous  to  the  extent  of  leaving  only  a  narrow 


THE  GLOW-WORM  287 

groove  for  the  insertion  of  the  antennae.  This  double 
eye,  occupying  almost  the  whole  face  of  the  insect  and 
contained  in  the  cavern  formed  by  the  spreading  peak  of 
the  corselet,  is  a  regular  Cyclops'  eye. 

At  the  moment  of  the  pairing  the  illumination  becomes 
much  fainter,  is  almost  extinguished;  all  that  remains 
alight  is  the  humble  fairy-lamp  of  the  last  segment. 
This  discreet  night-light  is  enough  for  the  wedding, 
while,  all  around,  the  host  of  nocturnal  insects,  lingering 
over  their  respective  affairs,  murmur  the  universal  mar- 
riage-hymn. The  laying  follows  very  soon.  The  round, 
white  eggs  are  laid,  or  rather  strewn  at  random,  without 
the  least  care  on  the  mother's  part,  either  on  the  more 
or  less  cool  earth  or  on  a  blade  of  grass.  These  brilliant 
ones  know  nothing  at  all  of  family  affection. 

Here  is  a  very  singular  thing:  the  Glow-worm's  eggs 
are  luminous  even  when  still  contained  in  the  mother's 
womb.  If  I  happen  by  accident  to  crush  a  female  big 
with  germs  that  have  reached  maturity,  a  shiny  streak 
runs  along  my  fingers,  as  though  I  had  broken  some 
vessel  filled  with  a  phosphorescent  fluid.  The  lens  shows 
me  that  I  am  wrong.  The  luminosity  comes  from  the 
cluster  of  eggs  forced  out  of  the  ovary.  Besides,  as 
laying-time  approaches,  the  phosphorescence  of  the  eggs 
is  already  made  manifest  through  this  clumsy  midwifery. 
A  soft  opalescent  light  shines  through  the  integument  of 
the  belly. 

The  hatching  follows  soon  after  the  laying.  The 
young  of  either  sex  have  two  little  rush-lights  on  the 
last  segment.  At  the  approach  of  the  severe  weather 


288       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

they  go  down  into  the  ground,  but  not  very  far.  In  my 
rearing-jars,  which  are  supplied  with  fine  and  very  loose 
earth,  they  descend  to  a  depth  of  three  or  four  inches  at 
most.  I  dig  up  a  few  in  mid-winter.  I  always  find  them 
carrying  their  faint  stern-light.  About  the  month  of 
April  they  come  up  again  to  the  surface,  there  to  continue 
and  complete  their  evolution. 

From  start  to  finish  the  Glow-worm's  life  is  one  great 
orgy  of  light.  The  eggs  are  luminous;  the  grubs  like- 
wise. The  full-grown  females  are  magnificent  light- 
houses, the  adult  males  retain  the  glimmer  which  the 
grubs  already  possessed.  We  can  understand  the  object 
of  the  feminine  beacon;  but  of  what  use  is  all  the  rest 
of  the  pyrotechnic  display?  To  my  great  regret,  I 
cannot  tell.  It  is  and  will  be,  for  many  a  day  to  come, 
perhaps  for  all  time,  the  secret  of  animal  physics,  which 
is  deeper  than  the  physics  of  the  books. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE    CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR 

THE  cabbage  of  our  modern  kitchen-gardens  is  a  semi- 
artificial  plant,  the  produce  of  our  agricultural  ingenuity 
quite  as  much  as  of  the  niggardly  gifts  of  nature.  Spon- 
taneous vegetation  supplied  us  with  the  long-stalked, 
scanty-leaved,  ill-smelling  wilding,  as  found,  according 
to  the  botanist,  on  the  ocean  cliffs.  He  had  need  of  a 
rare  inspiration  who  first  showed  faith  in  this  rustic 
clown  and  proposed  to  improve  it  in  his  garden-patch. 

Progressing  by  infinitesimal  degrees,  culture  wrought 
miracles.  It  began  by  persuading  the  wild  cabbage  to 
discard  its  wretched  leaves,  beaten  by  the  sea-winds,  and 
to  replace  them  by  others,  ample  and  fleshy  and  close- 
fitting.  The  gentle  cabbage  submitted  without  protest. 
It  deprived  itself  of  the  joys  of  light  by  arranging  its 
leaves  in  a  large  compact  head,  white  and  tender.  In 
our  day,  among  the  successors  of  those  first  tiny  hearts, 
are  some  that,  by  virtue  of  their  massive  bulk,  have 
earned  the  glorious  name  of  chou  quintal,  as  who  should 
say  a  hundredweight  of  cabbage.  They  are  real  monu- 
ments of  green  stuff. 

Later,  man  thought  of  obtaining  a  generous  dish  with 
a  thousand  little  sprays  of  the  inflorescence.  The  cab- 
bage consented.  Under  the  cover  of  the  central  leaves, 
it  gorged  with  food  its  sheaves  of  blossom,  its  flower- 
289 


290       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

stalks,  its  branches  and  worked  the  lot  into  a  fleshy  con- 
glomeration. This  is  the  cauliflower,  the  broccoli. 

Differently  entreated,  the  plant,  economizing  in  the 
center  of  its  shoot,  set  a  whole  family  of  close-wrapped 
cabbages  ladder-Avise  on  a  tall  stem.  A  multitude  of 
dwarf  leaf -buds  took  the  place  of  the  colossal  head. 
This  is  the  Brussels  sprout. 

Next  comes  the  turn  of  the  stump,  an  unprofitable, 
almost  wooden,  thing,  which  seemed  never  to  have  any 
other  purpose  than  to  act  as  a  support  for  the  plant. 
But  the  tricks  of  gardeners  are  capable  of  everything, 
so  much  so  that  the  stalk  yields  to  the  grower's  sugges- 
tions and  becomes  fleshy  and  swells  into  an  ellipse  similar 
to  the  turnip,  of  which  it  possesses  all  the  merits  of 
corpulence,  flavor  and  delicacy;  only  the  strange  product 
serves  as  a  base  for  a  few  sparse  leaves,  the  last  protests 
of  a  real  stem  that  refuses  to  lose  its  attributes  entirely. 
This  is  the  cole-rape. 

If  the  stem  allows  itself  to  be  allured,  why  not  the 
root?  It  does,  in  fact,  yield  to  the  blandishments  of 
agriculture;  it  dilates  its  pivot  into  a  flat  turnip,  which 
half  emerges  from  the  ground.  This  is  the  rutabaga,  or 
swede,  the  turnip-cabbage  of  our  northern  districts. 

Incomparably  docile  under  our  nursing,  the  cabbage 
has  given  its  all  for  our  nourishment  and  that  of  our 
cattle :  its  leaves,  its  flowers,  its  buds,  its  stalk,  its  root ; 
all  that  it  now  wants  is  to  combine  the  ornamental  with 
the  useful,  to  smarten  itself,  to  adorn  our  flowerbeds  and 
cut  a  good  figure  on  a  drawing-room  table.  It  has  done 


THE  CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR         291 

this  to  perfection,  not  with  its  flowers,  which  in  their 
modesty,  continue  intractable,  but  with  its  curly  and 
variegated  leaves,  which  have  the  undulating  grace  of 
Ostrich- feathers  and  the  rich  coloring  of  a  mixed  bouquet. 
None  who  beholds  it  in  this  magnificence  will  recognize 
the  near  relation  of  the  vulgar  "  greens  "  that  form  the 
basis  of  our  cabbage-soup. 

The  cabbage,  first  in  order  of  date  in  our  kitchen- 
gardens,  was  held  in  high  esteem  by  classic  antiquity, 
next  after  the  bean  and,  later,  the  pea ;  but  it  goes  much 
farther  back,  so  far  indeed  that  no  memories"  of  its 
acquisition  remain.  History  pays  but  little  attention  to 
these  details;  it  celebrates  the  battle-fields  whereon  we 
meet  our  death,  but  scorns  to  speak  of  the  plowed  fields 
whereby  we  thrive;  it  knows  the  names  of  the  king's 
bastards,  but  cannot  tell  us  the  origin  of  wheat.  That 
is  the  way  of  human  folly. 

This  silence  respecting  the  precious  plants  that  serve 
as  food  is  most  regrettable.  The  cabbage  in  particular, 
the  venerable  cabbage,  that  denizen  of  the  most  ancient 
garden-plots,  would  have  had  extremely  interesting  things 
to  teach  us.  It  is  a  treasure  in  itself,  but  a  treasure 
twice  exploited,  first  by  man  and  next  by  the  caterpillar 
of  the  Pieris,  the  common  Large  White  Butterfly  whom 
we  all  know  (Pieris  brassica,  Lin.).  This  caterpillar 
feeds  indiscriminately  on  the  leaves  of  all  varieties  of 
cabbage,  however  dissimilar  in  appearance:  he  nibbles 
with  the  same  appetite  red  cabbage  and  broccoli,  curly 
greens  and  savoy,  swedes  and  turnip-tops,  in  short,  all 


292       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

that  our  ingenuity,  lavish  of  time  and  patience,  has  been 
able  to  obtain  from  the  original  plant  since  the  most 
distant  ages. 

But  what  did  the  caterpillar  eat  before  our  cabbages 
supplied  him  with  copious  provender?  Obviously  the 
Pieris  did  not  wait  for  the  advent  of  man  and  his  horti- 
cultural works  in  order  to  take  part  in  the  joys  of  life. 
She  lived  without  us  and  would  have  continued  to  live 
without  us.  A  Butterfly's  existence  is  not  subject  to 
ours,  but  rightfully  independent  of  our  aid. 

Before  the  white-heart,  the  cauliflower,  the  savoy  and 
the  others  were  invented,  the  Pieris'  caterpillar  certainly 
did  not  lack  food:  he  browsed  on  the  wild  cabbage  of 
the  cliffs,  the  parent  of  the  latter-day  wealth;  but,  as 
this  plant  is  not  widely  distributed  and  is,  in  any  case, 
limited  to  certain  maritime  regions,  the  welfare  of  the 
Butterfly,  whether  on  plain  or  hill,  demanded  a  more 
luxuriant  and  more  common  plant  for  pasturage.  This 
plant  was  apparently  one  of  the  Cruci  ferae,  more  or  less 
seasoned  with  sulphuretted  essence,  like  the  cabbages. 
Let  us  experiment  on  these  lines. 

I  rear  the  Pieris'  caterpillars  from  the  egg  upwards 
on  the  wall-rocket  (Diplotaxis  tenuifolia,  Dec.),  which 
imbibes  strong  spices  along  the  edge  of  the  paths  and  at 
the  foot  of  the  walls.  Penned  in  a  large  wire-gauze 
bell-cage,  they  accept  this  provender  without  demur; 
they  nibble  it  with  the  same  appetite  as  if  it  were  cabbage ; 
and  they  end  by  producing  chrysalids  and  Butterflies. 
The  change  of  fare  causes  not  the  least  trouble. 

I  am  equally  successful  with  other  crucifers  of  a  less 


THE  CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR        293 

marked  flavor:  white  mustard  (Sinapis  incana,  -Lin.), 
dyer's  woad  (I satis  tinctoria,  Lin.),  wild  radish  (Rapha- 
nus  raphanistrum,  Lin.),  whitlow  pepperwort  (Lepidium 
draba,  Lin.),  hedge-mustard  (Sisymbrium  oMdnale, 
Scop.).  On  the  other  hand,  the  leaves  of  the  lettuce, 
the  bean,  the  pea,  the  corn-salad  are  obstinately  refused. 
Let  us  be  content  with  what  we  have  seen :  the  fare  has 
been  sufficiently  varied  to  show  us  that  the  Cabbage- 
caterpillar  ^feeds  exclusively  on  a  large  number  of  cru- 
cifers,  perhaps  even  on  all. 

As  these  experiments  are  made  in  the  enclosure  of  a 
bell-cage,  one  might  imagine  that  captivity  impels  the 
flock  to  feed,  in  the  absence  of  better  things,  on  what 
it  would  refuse  were  it  free  to  hunt  for  itself.  Having 
naught  else  within  their  reach,  the  starvelings  consume 
any  and  all  Cruci ferae,  without  distinction  of  species. 
Can  things  sometimes  be  the  same  in  the  open  fields, 
where  I  play  none  of  my  tricks?  Can  the  family  of 
the  White  Butterfly  be  settled  on  other  Cruci fers  than 
the  cabbage?  I  start  a  quest  along  the  paths  near  the 
gardens  and  end  by  finding  on  wild  radish  and  white 
mustard  colonies  as  crowded  and  prosperous  as  those 
established  on  cabbage. 

Now,  except  when  the  metamorphosis  is  at  hand,  the 
caterpillar  of  the  White  Butterfly  never  travels :  he  does 
all  his  growing  on  the  identical  plant  whereon  he  saw 
the  light.  The  caterpillars  observed  on  the  wild  radish, 
as  well  as  other  households,  are  not,  therefore,  emigrants 
who  have  come  as  a  matter  of  fancy  from  some  cabbage- 
patch  in  the  neighborhood:  they  have  hatched  on  the 


294       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

very  leaves  where  I  find  them.  Hence  I  arrive  at  this 
conclusion:  the  White  Butterfly,  who  is  fitful  in  her 
flight,  chooses  cabbage  first,  to  dab  her  eggs  upon,  and 
different  Cruci  ferae  next,  varying  greatly  in  appearance. 

How  does  the  Pieris  manage  to  know  her  way  about 
her  botanical  domain  ?  We  have  seen  the  Larini, l  those 
explorers  of  fleshy  receptacles  with  an  artichoke  flavor, 
astonish  us  with  their  knowledge  of  the  flora  of  the 
thistle  tribe ;  but  their  lore  might,  at  a  pinch,  be  explained 
by  the  method  followed  at  the  moment  of  housing  the 
egg-  With  their  rostrum,  they  prepare  niches  and  dig 
out  basins  in  the  receptacle  exploited  and  consequently 
they  taste  the  thing  a  little  before  entrusting  their  eggs 
to  it.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Butterfly,  a  nectar-drinker, 
makes  not  the  least  enquiry  into  the  savory  qualities  of 
the  leafage ;  at  most  dipping  her  proboscis  into  the  flowers, 
she  abstracts  a  mouthful  of  syrup.  This  means  of  inves- 
tigation, moreover,  would  be  of  no  use  to  her,  for  the 
plant  selected  for  the  establishing  of  her  family  is,  for  the 
most  part,  not  yet  in  flower.  The  mother  flits  for  a 
moment  around  the  plant;  and  that  swift  examination 
is  enough :  the  emission  of  eggs  takes  place  if  the  prov- 
ender be  found  suitable. 

The  botanist,  to  recognize  a  crucifer,  requires  the  indi- 
cation provided  by  the  flower.  Here  the  Pieris  surpasses 
us.  She  does  not  consult  the  seed-vessel,  to  see  if  it  be 
long  or  short,  not  yet  the  petals,  four  in  number  and 
arranged  in  a  cross,  because  the  plant,  as  a  rule,  is  not 

1 A  species  of  Weevils  found  on  thistle-heads. —  Translator's  Note. 


THE  CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR        295 

in  flower ;  and  still  she  recognizes  off-hand  what  suits  her 
caterpillars,  in  spite  of  profound  differences  that  would 
embarrass  any  but  a  botanical  expert. 

Unless  the  Pieris  has  an  innate  power  of  discrimina- 
tion to  guide  her,  it  is  impossible  to  understand  the  great 
extent  of  her  vegetable  realm.  She  needs  for  her  family 
Cruciferse,  nothing  but  Cruciferse;  and  she  knows  this 
group  of  plants  to  perfection.  I  have  been  an  enthusi- 
astic botanist  for  half  a  century  and  more.  Nevertheless, 
to  discover  if  this  or  that  plant,  new  to  me,  is  or  is  not 
one  of  the  Cruciferae,  in  the  absence  of  flowers  and  fruits 
I  should  have  more  faith  in  the  Butterfly's  statements 
than  in  all  the  learned  records  of  the  books.  Where 
science  is  apt  to  make  mistakes  instinct  is  infallible. 

The  Pieris  has  two  families  a  year:  one  in  April  and 
May,  the  other  in  September.  The  cabbage-patches  are 
renewed  in  those  same  months.  The  Butterfly's  calendar 
tallies  with  the  gardener's:  the  moment  that  provisions 
are  in  sight,  consumers  are  forthcoming  for  the  feast. 

The  eggs  are  a  bright  orange-yellow  and  do  not  lack 
prettiness  when  examined  under  the  lens.  They  are 
blunted  cones,  ranged  side  by  side  on  their  round  base 
and  adorned  with  finely  scored  longitudinal  ridges. 
They  are  collected  in  slabs,  sometimes  on  the  upper 
surface,  when  the  leaf  that  serves  as  a  support  is  spread 
wide,  sometimes  on  the  lower  surface  when  the  leaf  is 
pressed  to  the  next  ones.  Their  number  varies  con- 
siderably. Slabs  of  a  couple  of  hundred  are  pretty  fre- 
quent; isolated  eggs,  or  eggs  collected  in  small  groups, 


296       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

are,  on  the  contrary,  rare.  The  mother's  output  is 
affected  by  the  degree  of  quietness  at  the  moment  of 
laying. 

The  outer  circumference  of  the  group  is  irregularly 
formed,  but  the  inside  presents  a  certain  order.  The 
eggs  are  here  arranged  in  straight  rows  backing  against 
one  another  in  such  a  way  that  each  egg  finds  a  double 
support  in  the  preceding  row.  This  alternation,  without 
being  of  an  irreproachable  precision,  gives  a  fairly  stable 
equilibrium  to  the  whole. 

To  see  the  mother  at  her  laying  is  no  easy  matter: 
when  examined  too  closely,  the  Pieris  decamps  at  once. 
The  structure  of  the  work,  however,  reveals  the  order  of 
the  operations  pretty  clearly.  The  ovipositor  swings 
slowly  first  in  this  direction,  then  in  that,  by  turns;  and 
a  new  egg  is  lodged  in  each  space  between  two  adjoining 
eggs  in  the  previous  row.  The  extent  of  the  oscillation 
determines  the  length  of  the  row,  which  is  longer  or 
shorter  according  to  the  layer's  fancy. 

The  hatching  takes  place  in  about  a  week.  It  is  almost 
simultaneous  for  the  whole  mass:  as  soon  as  one  cater- 
pillar comes  out  of  its  egg,  the  others  come  out  also, 
as  though  the  natal  impulse  were  communicated  from 
one  to  the  other.  In  the  same  way,  in  the  nest  of  the 
Praying  Mantis,  a  warning  seems  to  be  spread  abroad 
arousing  every  one  of  the  population.  It  is  a  wave 
propagated  in  all  directions  from  the  point  first  struck. 

The  egg  does  not  open  by  means  of  a  dehiscence 
similar  to  that  of  the  vegetable-pods  whose  seeds  have 
attained  maturity;  it  is  the  new-born  grub  itself  that 


THE  CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR        297 

contrives  an  exit-way  by  gnawing  a  hole  in  its  enclosure. 
In  this  manner,  it  obtains  near  the  top  of  the  cone  a 
symmetrical  dormer-window,  clean-edged,  with  no  joins 
nor  unevenness  of  any  kind,  showing  that  this  part  of 
the  wall  has  been  nibbled  away  and  swallowed.  But  for 
this  breach,  which  is  just  wide  enough  for  the  deliver- 
ance, the  egg  remains  intact,  standing  firmly  on  its  base. 
It  is  now  that  the  lens  is  best  able  to  take  in  its  elegant 
structure.  What  it  sees  is  a  bag  made  of  ultra-fine  gold- 
beater's-skin,  translucent,  stiff  and  white,  retaining  the 
complete  form  of  the  original  egg.  A  score  of  streaked 
and  knotted  lines  run  from  the  top  to  the  base.  It  is  the 
wizard's  pointed  cap,  the  miter  with  the  grooves  carved 
into  jeweled  chaplets.  All  said,  the  Cabbage-caterpillar's 
birth-casket  is  an  exquisite  work  of  art. 

The  hatching  of  the  lot  is  finished  in  a  couple  of 
hours  and  the  swarming  family  musters  on  the  layer 
of  swaddling-clothes,  still  in  the  same  position.  For  a 
long  time,  before  descending  to  the  fostering  leaf,  it 
lingers  on  this  kind  of  hot-bed,  is  even  very  busy  there. 
Busy  with  what?  It  is  browsing  a  strange  kind  of  grass, 
the  handsome  miters  that  remain  standing  on  end. 
Slowly  and  methodically,  from  top  to  base,  the  new- 
born grubs  nibble  the  wallets  whence  they  have  just 
emerged.  By  to-morrow,  nothing  is  left  of  these  but 
a  pattern  of  round  dots,  the  bases  of  the  vanished  sacks. 

At  his  first  mouth fuls,  therefore,  the  Cabbage-cater- 
pillar eats  the  membranous  wrapper  of  his  egg.  This 
is  a  regulation  diet,  for  I  have  never  seen  one  of  the 
little  grubs  allow  itself  to  be  tempted  by  the  adjacent 


298       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

green  stuff  before  finishing  the  ritual  repast  whereat 
skin  bottles  furnish  forth  the  feast.  It  is  the  first  time 
that  I  have  seen  a  larva  make  a  meal  of  the  sack  in 
which  it  was  born.  Of  what  use  can  this  singular  fare 
be  to  the  budding  caterpillar?  I  suspect  as  follows: 
the  leaves  of  the  cabbage  are  waxed  and  slippery  surfaces 
and  nearly  always  slant  considerably.  To  graze  on  them 
without  risking  a  fall,  which  would  be  fatal  in  earliest 
childhood,  is  hardly  possible  unless  with  moorings  that 
afford  a  steady  support.  What  is  needed  is  bits  of  silk 
stretched  along  the  road  as  fast  as  progress  is  made, 
something  for  the  legs  to  grip,  something  to  provide  a 
good  anchorage  even  when  the  grub  is  upside  down. 
The  silk-tubes,  where  those  moorings  are  manufactured, 
must  be  very  scantily  supplied  in  a  tiny  new-born  animal ; 
and  it  is  expedient  that  they  be  filled  without  delay  with 
the  aid  of  a  special  form  of  nourishment.  Then  what 
shall  the  nature  of  the  first  food  be?  Vegetable  matter, 
slow  to  elaborate  and  niggardly  in  its  yield,  does  not 
fulfil  the  desired  conditions  at  all  well,  for  time  presses 
and  we  must  trust  ourselves  safely  to  the  slippery  leaf. 
An  animal  diet  would  be  preferable :  it  is  easier  to  digest 
and  undergoes  chemical  changes  in  a  shorter  time.  The 
wrapper  of  the  egg  is  of  a  horny  nature,  as  silk  itself 
is.  It  will  not  take  long  to  transform  the  one  into 
the  other.  The  grub  therefore  tackles  the  remains  of 
its  egg  and  turns  it  into  silk  to  carry  with  it  on  its  first 
journeys. 

If  my  surmise  is  well-founded,  there  is  reason  to  believe 
that,  with  a  view  to  speedily  filling  the  silk-glands  to 


THE  CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR        299 

which  they  look  to  supply  them  with  ropes,  other  cater- 
pillars beginning  their  existence  on  smooth  and  steeply 
slanting  leaves  also  take  as  their  first  mouthful  the  mem- 
branous sack  which  is  all  that  remains  of  the  egg. 

The  whole  of  the  platform  of  birth-sacks  which  was 
the  first  camping-ground  of  the  White  Butterfly's  family 
is  razed  to  the  ground;  naught  remains  but  the  round 
marks  of  the  individual  pieces  that  composed  it.  The 
structure  of  piles  has  disappeared;  the  prints  left  by  the 
piles  remain.  The  little  caterpillars  are  now  on  the 
level  of  the  leaf  which  shall  henceforth  feed  them.  They 
are  a  pale  orange-yellow,  with  a  sprinkling  of  white 
bristles.  The  head  is  a  shiny  black  and  remarkably 
powerful;  it  already  gives  signs  of  the  coming  gluttony. 
The  little  animal  measures  scarcely  two  millimeters  l  in 
length. 

The  troop  begins  its  steadying-work  as  soon  as  it  comes 
into  contact  with  its  pasturage,  the  green  cabbage-leaf. 
Here,  there,  in  its  immediate  neighborhood,  each  grub 
emits  from  its  spinning  glands  short  cables  so  slender 
that  it  takes  an  attentive  lens  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  them. 
This  is  enough  to  ensure  the  equilibrium  of  the  almost 
imponderable  atom. 

The  vegetarian  meal  now  begins.  The  grub's  length 
promptly  increases  from  two  millimeters  to  four.  Soon, 
a  moult  takes  place  which  alters  its  costume:  its  skin 
becomes  speckled,  on  a  pale-yellow  ground,  with  a 
number  of  black  dots  intermingled  with  white  bristles. 
Three  or  four  days  of  rest  are  necessary  after  the  fatigue 

1 .078  inch.—  Translator's  Note. 


300       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

of  breaking  cover.  When  this  is  over,  the  hunger-fit 
starts  that  will  make  a  ruin  of  the  cabbage  within  a  few 
weeks. 

What  an  appetite!  What  a  stomach,  working  con- 
tinuously day  and  night!  It  is  a  devouring  laboratory, 
through  which  the  foodstuffs  merely  pass,  transformed 
at  once.  I  serve  up  to  my  caged  herd  a  bunch  of  leaves 
picked  from  among  the  biggest :  two  hours  later,  nothing 
remains  but  the  thick  midribs ;  and  even  these  are  attacked 
when  there  is  any  delay  in  renewing  the  victuals.  At  this 
rate  a  "  hundredweight-cabbage,"  doled  out  leaf  by  leaf, 
would  not  last  my  menagerie  a  week. 

The  gluttonous  animal,  therefore,  when  it  swarms  and 
multiplies,  is  a  scourge.  How  are  we  to  protect  our 
gardens  against  it?  In  the  days  of  Pliny,  the  great 
Latin  naturalist,  a  stake  was  set  up  in  the  middle  of  the 
cabbage-bed  to  be  preserved ;  and  on  this  stake  was  fixed 
a  Horse's  skull  bleached  in  the  sun:  a  Mare's  skull  was 
considered  even  better.  This  sort  of  bogey  was  supposed 
to  ward  off  the  devouring  brood. 

My  confidence  in  this  preservative  is  but  an  indifferent 
one;  my  reason  for  mentioning  it  is  that  it  reminds 
me  of  a  custom  still  observed  in  our  own  days,  at  least 
in  my  part  of  the  country.  Nothing  is  so  long-lived  as 
absurdity.  Tradition  has  retained  in  a  simplified  form, 
the  ancient  defensive  apparatus  of  which  Pliny  speaks. 
For  the  Horse's  skull  our  people  have  substituted  an  egg- 
shell on  the  top  of  a  switch  stuck  among  the  cabbages. 
It  is  easier  to  arrange ;  also  it  is  quite  as  useful,  that  is 
to  say,  it  has  no  effect  whatever. 


THE  CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR        301 

Everything,  even  the  nonsensical,  is  capable  of  explana- 
tion with  a  little  credulity.  When  I  question  the  peas- 
ants, our  neighbors,  they  tell  me  that  the  effect  of  the 
egg-shell  is  as  simple  as  can  be :  the  Butterflies,  attracted 
by  the  whiteness,  come  and  lay  their  eggs  upon  it. 
Broiled  by  the  sun  and  lacking  all  nourishment  on  that 
thankless  support,  the  little  caterpillars  die;  and  that 
makes  so  many  fewer. 

I  insist ;  I  ask  them  if  they  have  ever  seen  slabs  of  eggs 
or  masses  of  young  caterpillars  on  those  white  shells. 

"  Never,"  they  reply,  with  one  voice. 

"Well,  then?" 

"  It  was  done  in  the  old  days  and  so  we  go  on  doing  it : 
that 's  all  we  know ;  and  that 's  enough  for  us." 

I  leave  it  at  that,  persuaded  that  the  memory  of  the 
Horse's  skull,  used  once  upon  a  time,  is  ineradicable,  like 
all  the  rustic  absurdities  implanted  by  the  ages. 

We  have,  when  all  is  said,  but  one  means  of  protection, 
which  is  to  watch  and  inspect  the  cabbage-leaves  assid- 
uously and  crush  the  slabs  of  eggs  between  our  finger 
and  thumb  and  the  caterpillars  with  our  feet.  Nothing 
is  so  effective  as  this  method,  which  makes  great  demands 
on  one's  time  and  vigilance.  What  pains  to  obtain  an 
unspoilt  cabbage!  And  what  a  debt  do  we  not  owe  to 
those  humble  scrapers  of  the  soil,  those  ragged  heroes, 
who  provide  us  with  the  wherewithal  to  live! 

To  eat  and  digest,  to  accumulate  reserves  whence  the 
Butterfly  will  issue :  that  is  the  caterpillar's  one  and  only 
business.  The  Cabbage-caterpillar  performs  it  with 
insatiable  gluttony.  Incessantly  it  browses,  incessantly 


302       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

digests :  the  supreme  felicity  of  an  animal  which  is  little 
more  than  an  intestine.  There  is  never  a  distraction, 
unless  it  be  certain  see-saw  movements  which  are  par- 
ticularly curious  when  several  caterpillars  are  grazing 
side  by  side,  abreast.  Then,  at  intervals,  all  the  heads 
in  the  row  are  briskly  lifted  and  as  briskly  lowered,  time 
after  time,  with  an  automatic  precision  worthy  of  a 
Prussian  drill-ground.  Can  it  be  their  method  of  intim- 
idating an  always  possible  aggressor  ?  Can  it  be  a  man- 
ifestation of  gaiety,  when  the  wanton  sun  warms  their 
full  paunches?  Whether  sign  of  fear  or  sign  of  bliss, 
this  is  the  only  exercise  that  the  gluttons  allow  themselves 
until  the  proper  degree  of  plumpness  is  attained. 

After  a  month's  grazing,  the  voracious  appetite  of 
my  caged  herd  is  assuaged.  The  caterpillars  climb  the 
trelliswork  in  every  direction,  walk  about  anyhow,  with 
their  forepart  raised  and  searching  space.  Here  and 
there,  as  they  pass,  the  swaying  herd  put  forth  a  thread. 
They  wander  restlessly,  anxiously  to  travel  afar.  The 
exodus  now  prevented  by  the  trellised  enclosure  I  once 
saw  under  excellent  conditions.  At  the  advent  of  the 
cold  weather,  I  had  placed  a  few  cabbage  stalks,  covered 
with  caterpillars,  in  a  small  greenhouse.  Those  who 
saw  the  common  kitchen  vegetable  sumptuously  lodged 
under  glass,  in  the  company  of  the  pelargonium  and  the 
Chinese  primrose,  were  astonished  at  my  curious  fancy. 
I  let  them  smile.  I  had  my  plans :  I  wanted  to  find  out 
how  the  family  of  the  Large  White  Butterfly  behaves 
when  the  cold  weather  sets  in.  Things  happened  just 
as  I  wished.  At  the  end  of  November,  the  caterpillars, 


THE  CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR        303 

having  grown  to  the  desired  extent,  left  the  cabbages, 
one  by  one,  and  began  to  roam  about  the  walls.  None 
of  them  fixed  himself  there  or  made  preparations  for  the 
transformation.  I  suspected  that  they  wanted  the  choice 
of  a  spot  in  the  open  air,  exposed  to  all  the  rigors  of 
winter.  I  therefore  left  the  door  of  the  hothouse  open. 
Soon  the  whole  crowd  had  disappeared. 

I  found  them  dispersed  all  over  the  neighboring  walls, 
some  thirty  ^yards  off.  The  thrust  of  a  ledge,  the  eaves 
formed  by  a  projecting  bit  of  mortar  served  them  as  a 
shelter  where  the  chrysalid  moult  took  place  and  where 
the  winter  was  passed.  The  Cabbage-caterpillar  pos- 
sesses a  robust  constitution,  unsusceptible  to  torrid  heat 
or  icy  cold.  All  that  he  needs  for  his  metamorphosis  is 
an  airy  lodging,  free  from  permanent  damp. 

The  inmates  of  my  fold,  therefore,  move  about  for  a 
few  days  on  the  trelliswork,  anxious  to  travel  afar  in 
search  of  a  wall.  Finding  none  and  realizing  that  time 
presses,  they  resign  themselves.  Each  one,  supporting 
himself  on  the  trellis,  first  weaves  around  himself  a  thin 
carpet  of  white  silk,  which  will  form  the  sustaining 
layer  at  the  time  of  the  laborious  and  delicate  work  of 
the  nymphosis.  He  fixes  his  rear-end  to  this  base  by  a 
silk  pad  and  his  fore-part  by  a  strap  that  passes  under 
his  shoulders  and  is  fixed  on  either  side  to  the  carpet. 
Thus  slung  from  his  three  fastenings,  he  strips  himself 
of  his  larval  apparel  and  turns  into  a  chrysalis  in  the 
open  air,  with  no  protection  save  that  of  the  wall,  which 
the  caterpillar  would  certainly  have  found  had  I  not 
interfered. 


304       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

Of  a  surety,  he  would  be  short-sighted  indeed  that 
pictured  a  world  of  good  things  prepared  exclusively  for 
our  advantage.  The  earth,  the  great  foster-mother,  has 
a  generous  breast.  At  the  very  moment  when  nourishing 
matter  is  created,  even  though  it  be  with  our  own  zealous 
aid,  she  summons  to  the  feast  host  upon  host  of  con- 
sumers, who  are  all  the  more  numerous  and  enterprising 
in  proportion  as  the  table  is  more  amply  spread.  The 
cherry  of  our  orchards  is  excellent  eating:  a  maggot 
contends  with  us  for  its  possession.  In  vain  do  we  weigh 
suns  and  planets:  our  supremacy,  which  fathoms  the 
universe,  cannot  prevent  a  wretched  worm  from  levying 
its  toll  on  the  delicious  fruit.  We  make  ourselves  at 
home  in  a  cabbage  bed:  the  sons  of  the  Pieris  make 
themselves  at  home  there  too.  Preferring  broccoli  to 
wild  radish,  they  profit  where  we  have  profited  ;  and  we 
have  no  remedy  against  their  competition  save  caterpillar- 
raids  and  egg-crushing,  a  thankless,  tedious,  and  none  too 
efficacious  work. 

Every  creature  has  its  claims  on  life.  The  Cabbage- 
caterpillar  eagerly  puts  forth  his  own,  so  much  so  that 
the  cultivation  of  the  precious  plant  would  be  endangered 
if  others  concerned  did  not  take  part  in  its  defense. 
These  others  are  the  auxiliaries,  *  our  helpers  from 
necessity  and  not  from  sympathy.  The  words  friend 
and  foe,  auxiliaries  and  ravagers  are  here  the  mere  con- 
ventions of  a  language  not  always  adapted  to  render  the 


author  employs  this  word  to  denote  the  insects  that  are 
helpful,  while  describing  as  "  ravagers  "  the  insects  that  are  hurtful 
to  the  farmer's  crops.  —  Translator's  Note. 


THE  CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR        305 

exact  truth.  He  is  our  foe  who  eats  or  attacks  our  crops ; 
our  friend  is  he  who  feeds  upon  our  foes.  Everything 
is  reduced  to  a  frenzied  contest  of  appetites. 

In  the  name  of  the  might  that  is  mine,  of  trickery,  of 
highway  robbery,  clear  out  of  that,  you,  and  make  room 
for  me:  give  me  your  seat  at  the  banquet!  That  is  the 
inexorable  law  of  the  world  of  animals  and  more  or  less, 
alas,  in  our  own  world  as  well ! 

Now,  among  our  entomological  auxiliaries,  the  smallest 
in  size  are  the  best  at  their  work.  One  of  them  is 
charged  with  watching  over  the  cabbages.  She  is  so 
small,  she  works  so  discreetly  that  the  gardener  does  not 
know  her,  has  not  even  heard  of  her.  Were  he  to  see 
her  by  accident,  flitting  around  the  plant  which  she  pro- 
tects, he  would  take  no  notice  of  her,  would  not  suspect 
the  service  rendered.  I  propose  to  set  forth  the  tiny 
midget's  deserts. 

Scientists  call  her  Microgaster  glomeratus.  What 
exactly  was  in  the  mind  of  the  author  of  the  name 
Microgaster,  which  means  little  belly  ?  Did  he  intend  to 
allude  to  the  insignificance  of  the  abdomen?  Not  so. 
However  slight  the  belly  may  be,  the  insect  nevertheless 
possesses  one,  correctly  proportioned  to  the  rest  of  the 
body,  so  that  the  classic  denomination,  far  from  giving 
us  any  information,  might  mislead  us,  were  we  to  trust 
it  wholly.  Nomenclature,  which  changes  from  day  to 
day  and  becomes  more  and  more  cacophonous,  is  an 
unsafe  guide.  Instead  of  asking  the  animal  what  its 
name  is,  let  us  begin  by  asking : 

"What  can  you  do?    What  is  your  business?" 


306       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

Well,  the  Microgaster's  business  is  to  exploit  the 
Cabbage-caterpillar,  a  clearly  defined  business  admitting 
of  no  possible  confusion.  Would  we  behold  her  works  ? 
In  the  spring,  let  us  inspect  the  neighborhood  of  the 
kitchen-garden.  Be  our  eye  never  so  unobservant,  we 
shall  notice  against  the  walls  or  on  the  withered  grasses 
at  the  foot  of  the  hedges  some  very  small  yellow  cocoons, 
heaped  into  masses  the  size  of  a  hazel-nut. 

Beside  each  group  lies  a  Cabbage-caterpillar,  some- 
times dying,  sometimes  dead,  and  always  presenting  a 
most  tattered  appearance.  These  cocoons  are  the  work 
of  the  Microgaster's  family,  hatched  or  on  the  point  of 
hatching  into  the  perfect  stage ;.  the  caterpillar  is  the  dish 
whereon  that  family  has  fed  during  its  larval  state.  The 
epithet  glomeratus,  which  accompanies  the  name  of 
Microgaster,  suggests  this  conglomeration  of  cocoons. 
Let  us  collect  the  clusters  as  they  are,  without  seeking 
to  separate  them,  an  operation  which  would  demand  both 
patience  and  dexterity,  for  the  cocoons  are  closely  united 
by  the  inextricable  tangle  of  their  surface-threads.  In 
May  a  swarm  of  pigmies  will  sally  forth,  ready  to  get  to 
business  in  the  cabbages. 

Colloquial  language  uses  the  terms  Midge  and  Gnat 
to  describe  the  tiny  insects  which  we  often  see  dancing 
in  a  ray  of  sunlight.  There  is  something  of  everything 
in  those  aerial  ballets.  It  is  possible  that  the  persecutrix 
of  the  Cabbage-caterpillar  is  there,  along  with  many  an- 
other; but  the  name  of  Midge  cannot  properly  be  applied 
to  her.  He  who  says  Midge  says  Fly,  Dipteron,  two- 
winged  insect;  and  our  friend  has  four  wings,  one  and 


THE  CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR         307 

all  adapted  for  flying.  By  virtue  of  this  characteristic 
and  others  no  less  important,  she  belongs  to  the  order  of 
Hymenoptera.1  No  matter:  as  our  language  possesses 
no  more  precise  term  outside  the  scientific  vocabulary,  let 
us  use  the  expression  Midge,  which  pretty  wett  conveys 
the  general  idea.  Our  Midge,  the  Microgaster,  is  the 
size  of  an  average  Gnat.  She  measures  3  or  4  milli- 
meters.2 The  two  sexes  are  equally  numerous  and  wear 
the  same  costume,  a  black  uniform,  all  but  the  legs,  which 
are  pale  red.  In  spite  of  this  likeness,  they  are  easily 
distinguished.  The  male  has  an  abdomen  which  is 
slightly  flattened  and,  moreover,  curved  at  the  tip;  the 
female,  before  the  laying,  has  hers  full  and  perceptibly 
distended  by  its  ovular  contents.  This  rapid  sketch  of 
the  insect  should  be  enough  for  our  purpose. 

If  we  wish  to  know  the  grub  and  especially  to  inform 
ourselves  of  its  manner  of  living,  it  is  advisable  to  rear 
in  a  cage  a  numerous  herd  of  Cabbage-caterpillars. 
Whereas  a  direct  search  on  the  cabbages  in  our  garden 
would  give  us  but  a  difficult  and  uncertain  harvest,  by 
this  means  we  shall  daily  have  as  many  as  we  wish  before 
our  eyes. 

In  the  course  of  June,  which  is  the  time  when  the 
caterpillars  quit  their  pastures  and  go  far  afield  to  settle 
on  some  wall  or  other,  those  in  my  fold,  finding  nothing 
better,  climb  to  the  dome  of  the  cage  to  make  their 
preparations  and  to  spin  a  supporting  network  for  the 

1This  order  includes  the  Ichneumon-flies,  of  whom  the  Micro- 
gaster is  one. —  Translator's  Note. 
2 .117  to  .156  inch. —  Translator's  Note. 


3o8       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

chrysalid's  needs.  Among  these  spinners  we  see  some 
weaklings  working  listlessly  at  their  carpet.  Their  ap- 
pearance makes  us  deem  them  in  the  grip  of  a  mortal 
disease.  I  take  a  few  of  them  and  open  their  bellies, 
using  a  needle  by  way  of  a  scalpel.  What  comes  out  is 
a  bunch  of  green  entrails,  soaked  in  a  bright  yellow  fluid, 
which  is  really  the  creature's  blood.  These  tangled 
intestines  swarm  with  little  lazy  grubs,  varying  greatly 
in  number,  from  ten  or  twenty  at  least  to  sometimes  half 
a  hundred.  They  are  the  offspring  of  the  Microgaster. 

What  do  they  feed  on  ?  The  lens  makes  conscientious 
enquiries ;  nowhere  does  it  manage  to  show  me  the  vermin 
attacking  solid  nourishment,  fatty  tissues,  muscles  or 
other  parts ;  nowhere  do  I  see  them  bite,  gnaw,  or  dissect. 
The  following  experiment  will  tell  us  more  fully :  I  pour 
into  a  watch-glass  the  crowds  extracted  from  the  hos- 
pitable paunches.  I  flood  them  with  caterpillar's  blood 
obtained  by  simple  pricks;  I  place  the  preparation  under 
a  glass  bell-jar,  in  a  moist  atmosphere,  to  prevent  evap- 
oration; I  repeat  the  nourishing  bath  by  means  of  fresh 
bleedings  and  give  them  the  stimulant  which  they  would 
have  gained  from  the  living  caterpillar.  Thanks  to  these 
precautions,  my  charges  have  all  the  appearance  of  excel- 
lent health;  they  drink  and  thrive.  But  this  state  of 
things  cannot  last  long.  Soon  ripe  for  the  transforma- 
tion, my  grubs  leave  the  dining-room  of  the  watch-glass 
as  they  would  have  left  the  caterpillar's  belly ;  they  come 
to  the  ground  to  try  and  weave  their  tiny  cocoons.  They 
fail  in  the  attempt  and  perish.  They  have  missed  a  suit- 
able support,  that  is  to  say,  the  silky  carpet  provided  by 


THE  CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR         309 

the  dying  caterpillar.  No  matter:  I  have  seen  enough 
to  convince  me.  The  larvae  of  the  Microgaster  do  not 
eat  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  word;  they  live  on  soup;  and 
that  soup  is  the  caterpillar's  blood. 

Examine  the  parasites  closely  and  you  shall  see  that 
their  diet  is  bound  to  be  a  liquid  one.  They  are  little 
white  grubs,  neatly  segmented,  with  a  pointed  fore-part 
splashed  with  tiny  black  marks,  as  though  the  atom  had 
been  slaking  its  thirst  in  a  drop  of  ink.  It  moves  its 
hind-quarters  slowly,  without  shifting  its  position.  I 
place  it  under  the  microscope.  The  mouth  is  a  pore, 
devoid  of  any  apparatus  for  disintegration-work:  it  has 
no  fangs,  no  horny  nippers,  no  mandibles;  its  attack  is 
just  a  kiss.  It  does  not  chew,  it  sucks,  it  takes  discreet 
sips  at  the  moisture  all  around  it. 

The  fact  that  it  refrains  entirely  from  biting  is  con- 
firmed by  my  autopsy  of  the  stricken  caterpillars.  In 
the  patient's  belly,  notwithstanding  the  number  of 
nurslings  who  hardly  leave  room  for  the  nurse's  entrails, 
everything  is  in  perfect  order;  nowhere  do  we  see  a  trace 
of  mutilation.  Nor  does  aught  on  the  outside  betray 
any  havoc  within.  The  exploited  caterpillars  graze  and 
move  about  peacefully,  giving  no  sign  of  pain.  It  is 
impossible  for  me  to  distinguish  them  from  the  unscathed 
ones  in  respect  of  appetite  and  untroubled  digestion. 

When  the  time  approaches  to  weave  the  carpet  for 
the  support  of  the  chrysalis,  an  appearance  of  emacia- 
tion at  last  points  to  the  evil  that  is  at  their  vitals.  They 
spin  nevertheless.  They  are  stoics  who  do  not  forget 
their  duty  in  the  hour  of  death.  At  last  they  expire, 


310       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

quite  softly,  not  of  any  wounds,  but  of  anemia,  even  as  a 
lamp  goes  out  when  the  oil  comes  to  an  end.  And  it 
has  to  be.  The  living  caterpillar,  capable  of  feeding 
himself  and  forming  blood,  is  a  necessity  for  the  welfare 
of  the  grubs;  he  has  to  last  about  a  month,  until  the 
Microgaster's  offspring  have  achieved  their  full  growth. 
The  two  calendars  synchronize  in  a  remarkable  way. 
When  the  caterpillar  leaves  off  eating  and  makes  his 
preparations  for  the  metamorphosis,  the  parasites  are 
ripe  for  the  exodus.  The  bottle  dries  up  when  the 
drinkers  cease  to  need  it ;  but  until  that  moment  it  must 
remain  more  or  less  well-filled,  although  becoming  limper 
daily.  It  is  important,  therefore,  that  the  caterpillar's 
existence  be  not  endangered  by  wounds  which,  even 
though  very  tiny,  would  stop  the  working  of  the  blood- 
fountains.  With  this  intent,  the  drainers  of  the  bottle 
are,  in  a  manner  of  speaking,  muzzled ;  they  have  by  way 
of  a  mouth  a  pore  that  sucks  without  bruising. 

The  dying  caterpillar  continues  to  lay  the  silk  of  his 
carpet  with  a  slow  oscillation  of  the  head.  The  moment 
now  comes  for  the  parasites  to  emerge.  This  happens 
in  June  and  generally  at  nightfall.  A  breach  is  made 
on  the  ventral  surface  or  else  in  the  sides,  never  on  the 
back:  one  breach  only,  contrived  at  a  point  of  minor 
resistance,  at  the  junction  of  two  segments;  for  it  is 
bound  to  be  a  toilsome  business,  in  the  absence  of  a  set 
of  filing-tools.  Perhaps  the  grubs  take  one  another's 
places  at  the  point  attacked  and  come  by  turns  to  work 
at  it  with  a  kiss. 

In  one  short  spell,  the  whole  tribe  issues  through  this 


THE  CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR        311 

single  opening  and  is  soon  wriggling  about,  perched  on 
the  surface  of  the  caterpillar.  The  lens  cannot  perceive 
the  hole,  which  closes  on  the  instant.  There  is  not  even 
a  haemorrhage:  the  bottle  has  been  drained  too  thor- 
oughly. You  must  press  it  between  your  fingers  to 
squeeze  out  a  few  drops  of  moisture  and  thus  discover 
the  place  of  exit. 

Around  the  caterpillar,  who  is  not  always  quite  dead 
and  who  sometimes  even  goes  on  weaving  his  carpet 
a  moment  longer,  the  vermin  at  once  begin  work  at 
their  cocoons.  The  straw-colored  thread,  drawn  from 
the  silk-glands  by  a  backward  jerk  of  the  head,  is  first 
fixed  to  the  white  network  of  the  caterpillar  and  then 
produces  adjacent  warp-beams,  so  that,  by  mutual  en- 
tanglements, the  individual  works  are  welded  together 
and  form  an  agglomeration  in  which  each  of  the  grubs 
has  its  own  cabin.  For  the  moment,  what  is  woven  is 
not  the  real  cocoon,  but  a  general  scaffolding  which  will 
facilitate  the  construction  of  the  separate  shells.  All 
these  frames  rest  upon  those  adjoining  and,  mixing  up 
their  threads,  become  a  common  edifice  wherein  each 
grub  contrives  a  shelter  for  itself.  Here  at  last  the 
real  cocoon  is  spun,  a  pretty  little  piece  of  closely  woven 
work. 

In  my  rearing-jars  I  obtain  as  many  groups  of  these 
tiny  shells  as  my  future  experiments  can  wish  for. 
Three-fourths  of  the  caterpillars  have  supplied  me  with 
them,  so  ruthless  has  been  the  toll  of  the  spring  births. 
I  lodge  these  groups,  one  by  one,  in  separate  glass  tubes, 
thus  forming  a  collection  on  which  I  can  draw  at  will, 


312       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

while,  in  view  of  my  experiments,  I  keep  under  observa- 
tion the  whole  swarm  produced  by  one  caterpillar. 

The  adult  Microgaster*  appears  a  fortnight  later,  in 
the  middle  of  June.  There  are  fifty  in  the  first  tube 
examined.  The  riotous  multitude  is  in  the  full  enjoy- 
ment of  the  pairing-season,  for  the  two  sexes  always  fig- 
ure among  the  guests  of  any  one  caterpillar.  What  ani- 
mation! What  an  orgy  of  love!  The  carnival  of  these 
pigmies  bewilders  the  observer  and  makes  his  head 
swim. 

Most  of  the  females,  wishful  of  liberty,  plunge  down 
to  the  waist  between  the  glass  of  the  tube  and  the 
plug  of  cotton-wool  that  closes  the  end  turned  to  the 
light;  but  the  lower  halves  remain  free  and  form  a 
circular  gallery  in  front  of  which  the  males  hustle  one 
another,  take  one  another's  places  and  hastily  operate. 
Each  bides  his  turn,  each  attends  to  his  little  matters  for 
a  few  moments  and  then  makes  way  for  his  rivals  and 
goes  off  to  start  again  elsewhere.  The  turbulent  wedding 
lasts  all  the  morning  and  begins  afresh  next  day,  a  mighty 
throng  of  couples  embracing,  separating  and  embracing 
once  more. 

There  is  every  reason  to  believe  that,  in  gardens,  the 
mated  ones,  finding  themselves  in  isolated  couples,  would 
keep  quieter.  Here,  in  the  tube,  things  degenerate  into 
a  riot  because  the  assembly  is  too  numerous  for  the 
narrow  space. 

What  is  lacking  to  complete  its  happiness?  Appar- 
ently a  little  food,  a  few  sugary  mouthfuls  extracted  from 
the  flowers.  I  serve  up  some  provisions  in  the  tubes: 


THE  CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR         313 

not  drops  of  honey,  in  which  the  puny  creatures  would 
get  stuck,  but  little  strips  of  paper  spread  with  that 
dainty.  They  come  to  them,  take  their'  stand  on  them 
and  refresh  themselves.  The  fare  appears  to  agree  with 
them.  With  this  diet,  renewed  as  the  strips  dry  up,  I 
can  keep  them  in  very  good  condition  until  the  end  of 
my  inquisition. 

There  is  another  arrangement  to  be  made.  The  col- 
onists in  my  spare  tubes  are  restless  and  quick  of  flight; 
they  will  have  to  be  transferred  presently  to  sundry 
vessels  without  my  risking  the  loss  of  a  good  number, 
or  even  the  whole  lot,  a  loss  which  my  hands,  my  forceps 
and  other  means  of  coercion  would  be  unable  to  prevent 
by  checking  the  nimble  movements  of  the  tiny  prisoners. 
The  irresistible  attraction  of  the  sunlight  comes  to  my 
aid.  If  I  lay  one  of  my  tubes  horizontally  on  the  table, 
turning  one  end  towards  the  full  light  of  a  sunny  win- 
dow, the  captives  at  once  make  for  the  brighter  end 
and  play  about  there  for  a  long  while,  without  seeking 
to  retreat.  If  I  turn  the  tube  in  the  opposite  direction, 
the  crowd  immediately  shifts  its  quarters  and  collects 
at  the  other  end.  The  brilliant  sunlight  is  its  great  joy. 
With  this  bait,  I  can  send  it  whithersoever  I  please. 

We  will  therefore  place  the  new  receptacle,  jar  or 
test-tube,  on  the  table,  pointing  the  closed  end  towards 
the  window.  At  its  mouth,  we  open  one  of  the  full 
tubes.  No  other  precaution  is  needed :  even  though  the 
mouth  leaves  a  large  interval  free,  the  swarm  hastens 
into  the  lighted  chamber.  All  that  remains  to  be  done 
is  to  close  the  apparatus  before  moving  it.  The  observer 


3H       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

is  now  in  control  of  the  multitude,  without  appreciable 
losses  and  is  able  to  question  it  at  will. 

We  will  begin  by  asking : 

"  How  do  you  manage  to  lodge  your  germs  inside  the 
caterpillar?" 

This  question  and  others  of  the  same  category,  which 
ought  to  take  precedence  of  everything  else,  are  generally 
neglected  by  the  impaler  of  insects,  who  cares  more  for 
the  niceties  of  nomenclature  than  for  glorious  realities. 
He  classifies  his  subjects,  dividing  them  into  regiments 
with  barbarous  labels,  a  work  which  seems  to  him  the 
highest  expression  of  entomological  science.  Names, 
nothing  but  names:  the  rest  hardly  counts.  The  perse- 
cutor of  the  Pieris  used  to  be  called  Microgaster,  that 
is  to  say,  little  belly :  to-day  she  is  called  Apanteles,  that 
is  to  say,  the  incomplete.  What  a  fine  step  forward! 
We  now  know  all  about  it ! 

Can  our  friend  at  least  tell  us  how  "  the  Little  Belly  " 
or  "the  Incomplete"  gets  into  the  caterpillar?  Not 
a  bit  of  it!  A  book  which,  judging  by  its  recent  date, 
should  be  the  faithful  echo  of  our  actual  knowledge, 
informs  us  that  the  Microgaster  inserts  her  eggs  direct 
into  the  caterpillar's  body.  It  goes  on  to  say  that  the 
parasitic  vermin  inhabit  the  chrysalis,  whence  they  make 
their  way  out  by  perforating  the  stout  horny  wrapper. 
Hundreds  of  times  have  I  witnessed  the  exodus  of  the 
grubs  ripe  for  weaving  their  cocoons;  and  the  exit  has 
always  been  made  through  the  skin  of  the  caterpillar,  and 
never  through  the  armor  of  the  chrysalis.  The  fact  that 
its  mouth  is  a  mere  clinging  pore,  deprived  of  any  offen- 


THE  CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR        315 

sive  weapon,  would  even  lead  me  to  believe  that  the  grub 
is  incapable  of  perforating  the  chrysalid's  covering. 

This  proved  error  makes  me  doubt  the  other  propo- 
sition, though  logical,  after  all,  and  agreeing  with  the 
methods  followed  by  a  host  of  parasites.  No  matter: 
my  faith  in  what  I  read  in  print  is  of  the  slightest;  I 
prefer  to  go  straight  to  facts.  Before  making  a  state- 
ment of  any  kind,  I  want  to  see,  what  I  call  seeing.  It 
is  a  slower  and  more  laborious  process ;  but  it  is  certainly 
much  safer. 

I  will  not  undertake  to  lie  in  wait  for  what  takes 
place  on  the  cabbages  in  the  garden;  that  method  is 
too  uncertain  and  besides  does  not  lend  itself  to  precise 
observation.  As  I  have  in  hand  the  necessary  materials, 
to  wit,  my  collection  of  tubes  swarming  with  the  parasites 
newly  hatched  into  the  adult  form,  I  will  operate  on 
the  little  table  in  my  animals'  laboratory.  A  jar  with 
a  capacity  of  about  a  liter  *  in  placed  on  the  table,  with 
the  bottom  turned  towards  the  window  in  the  sun.  I 
put  into  it  a  cabbage  leaf  covered  with  caterpillars,  some- 
times fu/lly  developed,  sometimes  half-way,  sometimes 
just  out  of  the  egg.  A  strip  of  honeyed  paper  will  serve 
the  Microgaster  as  a  dining  room,  if  the  experiment  is 
destined  to  take  some  time.  Lastly,  by  the  method  of 
transfer  which  I  described  above,  I  send  the  inmates  of 
one  of  my  tubes  into  the  apparatus.  Once  the  jar  is 
closed,  there  is  nothing  left  to  do  but  to  let  things  take 
their  course  and  to  keep  an  assiduous  watch,  for  days 

1  About  iM  pints,  or  .22  gallon.-6-  Translator's  Note. 


3i6       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

and  weeks,  if  need  be.  Nothing  worth  remarking  can 
escape  me. 

The  caterpillars  graze  placidly,  heedless  of  their  terrible 
attendants.  If  some  giddy-pates  in  the  turbulent  swarm 
pass  over  the  caterpillars'  spines,  these  draw  up  their 
fore-part  with  a  jerk  and  as  suddenly  lower  it  again; 
and  that  is  all:  the  intruders  forthwith  decamp.  Nor 
do  the  latter  seem  to  contemplate  any  harm:  they  re- 
fresh themselves  on  the  honey-smeared  strip,  they  come 
and  go  tumultuously.  Their  short  flights  may  land 
them,  now  in  one  place,  now  in  another,  on  the  browsing 
herd,  but  they  pay  no  attention  to  it.  What  we  see  is 
casual  meetings,  not  deliberate  encounters. 

In  vain  I  change  the  flock  of  caterpillars  and  vary 
their  age;  in  vain  I  change  the  squad  of  parasites;  in  vain 
I  follow  events  in  the  jar  for  long  hours,  morning  and 
evening,  both  in  a  dim  light  and  in  the  full  glare  of  the 
sun :  I  succeed  in  seeing  nothing,  absolutely  nothing,  on 
the  parasite's  side,  that  resembles  an  attack.  No  matter 
what  the  ill-informed  authors  say  —  ill-informed  because 
they  had  not  the  patience  to  see  for  themselves  —  the 
conclusion  at  which  I  arrive  is  positive:  to  inject  the 
germs,  the  Microgaster  never  attacks  the  caterpillars. 

The  invasion,  therefore,  is  necessarily  effected  through 
the  Butterfly's  eggs  themselves,  as  experiment  will  prove. 
My  broad  jar  would  tell  against  the  inspection  of  the 
troop,  kept  at  too  great  a  distance  by  the  glass  enclosure, 
and  I  therefore  select  a  tube  an  inch  wide.  I  place  in 
this  a  shred  of  cabbage-leaf,  bearing  a  slab  of  eggs, 
as  laid  by  the  Butterfly.  I  next  introduce  the  inmates 


THE  CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR         317 

of  one  of  my  spare  vessels.  A  strip  of  paper  smeared 
with  honey  accompanies  the  new  arrivals. 

This  happens  early  in  July.  Soon,  the  females  are 
there,  .fussing  about,  sometimes  to  the  extent  of  blacken- 
ing the  whole  slab  of  yellow  eggs.  They  inspect  the 
treasure,  flutter  their  wings  and  brush  their  hind-legs 
against  each  other,  a  sign  of  keen  satisfaction.  They 
sound  the  heap,  probe  the  interstices  with  their  antennae 
and  tap  the^  individual  eggs  with  their  palpi ;  then,  this 
one  here,  that  one  there,  they  quickly  apply  the  tip  of 
their  abdomen  to  the  egg  selected.  Each  time,  we  see 
a  slender,  horny  prickle  darting  from  the  ventral 
surface,  close  to  the  end.  This  is  the  instrument  that 
deposits  the  germ  under  the  film  of  the  egg;  it  is  the 
inoculation-needle.  The  operation  is  performed  calmly 
and  methodically,  even  when  several  mothers  are 
working  at  one  and  the  same  time.  Where  one  has  been, 
a  second  goes,  followed  by  a  third,  a  fourth  and  others 
yet,  nor  am  I  able  definitely  to  see  the  end  of  the  visits 
paid  to  the  same  egg.  Each  time,  the  needle  enters  and 
inserts  a  germ. 

It  is  impossible,  in  such  a  crowd,  for  the  eye  to  follow 
the  successive  mothers  who  hasten  to  lay  in  each;  but 
there  is  one  quite  practicable  method  by  which  we  can 
estimate  the  number  of  germs  introduced  into  a  single 
egg,  which  is,  later,  to  open  the  ravaged  caterpillars  and 
count  the  grubs  which  they  contain.  A  less  repugnant 
means  is  to  number  the  little  cocoons  heaped  up  around 
each  dead  caterpillar.  The  total  will  tell  us  how  many 
germs  were  injected,  some  by  the  same  mother  returning 


318       THE  WONDERS  OF  INSTINCT 

several  times  to  the  egg  already  treated,  others  by  differ- 
ent- mothers.  Well,  the  number  of  these  cocoons  varies 
greatly.  Generally,  it  fluctuates  in  the  neighborhood  of 
twenty,  but  I  have  come  across  as  many  as  sixty-five; 
and  nothing  tells  me  that  this  is  the  extreme  limit.  What 
hideous  industry  for  the  extermination  of  a  Butterfly's 
progeny ! 

I  am  fortunate  at  this  moment  in  having  a  highly 
cultured  visitor,  versed  in  the  profundities  of  philosophic 
thought.  I  make  way  for  him  before  the  apparatus 
wherein  the  Microgaster  is  at  work.  For  an  hour  and 
more,  standing  lens  in  hand,  he,  in  his  turn,  looks  and 
sees  what  I  have  just  seen ;  he  watches  the  layers  who  go 
from  one  egg  to  the  other,  make  their  choice,  draw  their 
slender  lancet  and  prick  what  the  stream  of  passers-by, 
one  after  the  other,  have  already  pricked.  Thoughtful 
and  a  little  uneasy,  he  puts  down  his  lens  at  last.  Never 
had  he  been  vouchsafed  so  clear  a  glimpse  as  here,  in  my 
finger-wide  tube,  of  the  masterly  brigandage  that  runs 
through  all  life  down  to  that  of  the  very  smallest. 


INDEX 


Ammophila,  3,  n,  3&-9.  66 

Andrena,  9 

Anoxia,  26 

Ant-lion,  277 

Anthidium,  8,  9 

Anthophora  personata,  223 

Anthrax,  53 

Apantales,  see  Microgaster  glo- 

meratus 
Arundo   donax,  the  great   reed, 

224. 
Audubon,  on  trapping  Turkeys, 

98-9 

Bats,  37 

Bell-ringing  Toad,  18-20 

Bembex,  n,  14 

Bird-catchers,  169-170 

Blackbirds,  Corsican,  109 

Bluebottle,  (101-18) ;  the  laying 
of  the  eggs,  109-13;  hatching, 
in;  a  test,  112-113;  paper  a 
protection  against,  116-17;  the 
grubs,  112-13;  sand  a  protec- 
tion against,  117-18 

Bower-bird,   210 

Brussels  Sprouts,  ancestry  of, 
290 

Buprestis,  45-6 

Burying-beetles :  method  of 
burial,  59-75;  appearance  of 
the  insect,  61 ;  manipulation  of 
the  corpse,  70-1 ;  cooperation 
of  individuals,  71-2;  larvae  of, 
72-3;  attacked  by  vermin,  73- 
4;  the  dismal  end  of,  75;  ex- 

319 


periments,  (76-100)  ;  test  con- 
ditions imposed,  77-82;  con- 
ditions of  burial,  84-5 ;  nets  of 
cordage  cut  through,  85-6; 
ligatures  severed,  91-2;  limi- 
tations of  instinct,  95-96,  98- 
100 

Cabbage,  ancestry  of,  289;  off- 
spring, 289-91 

Cabbage  Butterfly,  her  selection 
of  suitable  Crucif erae ;  294-5 ; 
eggs  of,  295-6 ;  hatching  of  the 
eggs,  296-7 

Cabbage-caterpillar,  (289-317) ; 
eats  egg-cases  on  emergence, 
297;  employment  of  silk  by, 
298;  growth  and  moults,  299; 
its  voracity,  299-300;  an  old 
charm  against,  300-1 ;  the  only 
true  charm,  301 ;  movements 
of  the  caterpillar,  301-3;  its 
chrysalis,  303;  its  deadly 
enemy,  305-17 

Calliphora  vomitaria,  see  Blue- 
bottle 

Capricorn  Beetle,  (43-58);  the 
grub,  44-56;  its  cell,  54;  the 
barricade,  54;  the  pupa,  58; 
metamorphosis  and  emer- 
gence, 56-7 

Cauliflower,  289-90 

Centauries,  7-8 

Cerambyx  miles,  44-58 

Cerceris,  4,  66,  192 

Cetonia,  or  Rose-chafer,  12 


INDEX 


Chalicodoma,  9,  208,  242-3 

Chat,  Black-eared,  10 

Cicada,  5,  16-7;  the  grasshop- 
per's victim,  25-6 

Cicadella,  n 

Clairville  on  the  Burying-beetle, 
62,  81 

Clothes-moth,  the,  116,  186 

Cockchafers,  26 

Cole-rape,  290 

Condillac,   philosophy  of,  43 

Couch-grass,  7 

Cricket,  Italian,  22;  Common 
Black,  22 

Cruciferae,  the  diet  of  Pieris 
brassicee,  292-3 

Dasypoda,  9 
Dermestes,  59-61 
Digger  wasps,  n 
Dragon-fly,    189-90,   194 
Drilus  maroccanus,  274-5 
Dung-beetles,  10,  81 

Empusa  (30-42);  larva  of,  30; 
fore-limbs,  31;  strange  head- 
dress, 32-3;  food  of,  33-5; 
how  killed,  35-6;  metamor- 
phosis of,  39-40;  curious  posi- 
tion assumed  in  captivity,  36- 
7 ;  pacific  nature  of,  41-2 

Epeira,  Angular,  telegraph  wire 

Of,  2OO-I 

Epeira  fasciator,  (170-201)  ;  ap- 
pearance of,  170;  its  web,  171- 
4;  nature  of  the  thread,  174-5; 
her  station  on  the  web,  176; 
fatty  unguent  of,  177-78;  na- 
ture of  the  adhesive  glue,  179- 
80;  hunting  methods,  180-2; 
treatment  of  prey,  182-6;  bite 
of,  187-92;  the  alarm,  194-96; 
the  telegraph  wire,  196-201 


Epeira,  Silky,  182,  193,  194 

Ephippigera,  II 

Eucera,  9 

Eumenes,  13,  (206-20)  ;  cells  of 
different  species,  208-10;  nest 
of  E.  pomiformis,  211;  prey 
found  in  nest  of  £.  Amedei, 
212;  sex  of  eggs  known  to 
insect,  213;  prey  in  nest  of  E. 
pomiformis,  213-14 ;  experi- 
ments on  larvae,  214-15 ;  posi- 
tion of  the  egg,  216-19;  sus- 
pension of  the  larvae,  219;  the 
protective  sheath,  220. 

Flesh-fly,  Gray,  101 ;  viviparous, 
112;  maggots  of,  113;  a  test, 
114;  her  attacks  on  meat- 
safes,  115;  baffled  by  sand, 
117-118 

Fly,  59 

Frog,  burial  of  a,  62,  88 

Froghopper,  n 

Geotrupes,  96 

Gledditsch  on  Burying-beetles, 
62,  94 

Glow-worm,  (268-88) ;  diet  of 
snails,  269;  anesthetises  its 
prey,  269-76;  digestive  juice 
secreted  by,  276-77;  adhesive 
climbing  appendage  of,  278-79 ; 
luminous  apparatus  of,  280-1 ; 
regulation  of  light,  282-4; 
light  displayed  by  females, 
286-87;  eyes  of  the  male,  287; 
pairing,  287 ;  eggs,  287 ;  lumin- 
osity of  eggs,  287-8;  of  larvae, 
288 

Grasshopper,  Green,  n;  (16- 
29)  ;  the  note  of  the,  18-19 ; 
stridulating  apparatus,  19; 


INDEX 


321 


habitat,    24-5;     food,    26-27; 
mating   habits,   28;    eggs,   28; 
seminal  capsule,  29 
Greenfinch,  12 

Halictus,  10 

Harmas   (3-15)  ;  description  of, 

6,  222 

Harmonica,   19 
Horn-beetle,  59,  61 
Hornet,  184-5 
Hunting- wasp,  u,  12 

Laboratory,  the  outdoor,  3,  4 

Lacordaire  on  the  Burying- 
beetle,  62 

Lammellicornis,  12 

Larini,  294 

Linnet,  dead,  preserved  from 
flies  by  paper,  104-108 

Lizard,  Eyed,  10 

Locust,  150;  the  prey  of  the 
Epeira,  185-92 

Lycosa,  Narbonne,  II,  (142-68)  ; 
its  eyes,  143 ;  its  burrow,  144- 
5;  the  rampart,  145-49;  use  of 
the  same,  150;  methods  of 
catching  prey,  150-51 ;  method 
of  laying  eggs,  151-52;  the 
egg-sac,  153 ;  experiments 
with,  154-57;  the  hatching 
process,  157-58;  the  young, 
159-60;  experiments  with,  161- 
62;  a  problem  of  energy,  162- 
68 

Macrocera,  9 

Mantis,    Praying,   27,   30,   40-42, 

184-86,  296 
Mason-bees,    10;    cells    used   by 

Osmise,  250-60 
Mason-wasps,  13 


Massagetae,  customs  of  the,  75 

Megachiles,  9,  44 

Melolontho  fullo,  27 

Michelet,  142 

Microgaster  glomeratus,  (305- 
18) ;  the  exterminator  of  the 
Cabbage  Caterpillar,  306 ; 
method  of  feeding,  308;  emer- 
gence from  the  host,  310;  co- 
coons, 310-11;  the  adult,  312; 
pairing,  312;  food,  312;  the 
eggs  laid  in  the  Butterfly's 
egg,  3i7-i8 

Mole,  burial  of  a,  59;  a  supply 
of  corpses  obtained,  64-5 

Mouse,  burial  of  a,  62,  76-81 

National   festival,  the,  16 
Natterjack,  12 

Necrophorus,  see  Burying-bee- 
tles 

Osmia,  9,  44,  (221-67) ',  cells  of 
different  species,  222-5 ;  glass 
nests  of  Three-horned  Osmia, 
225-33 !  distribution  of  sexes, 
234-40;  optional  determination 
of  sex,  240-67 

Orcytes,  12 

Owl,  12 ;  Horned  Owl,  21 ;  Com- 
mon Owl,  21 

Oyster-plant,  7,  8 

Pelopseus,  13,  56 

Perez,   Prof,   10 

Philanthus  apivorus,  192 

Phylloxera,  144 

Pier  is  brassica,  291 

Pine  Processionary,  (119-41)  : 
silken  road  of,  119-20;  nest, 
121 ;  use  of  road,  121-24; 
senses,  125;  the  processionary 


322 


INDEX 


march,  124-5 ;  experiments, 
126-8;  on  a  circular  track,  129- 
39 

Pliny,  on  the  Cabbage-Caterpil- 
lar, 300 

Pompilus,  n,  66 

Rose-chafer.  12 

Sacred  Beetle,  81,  83 

Saprini,  60 

Sarcophaga  carnaria,  see  Flesh- 
fly 

Scarabaeus,  10 

Scolia,  12,  56,  192 

Scops,  12,  21 

Serin-finch,  12 

Sex,  distribution,  determination 
and  permutations  of,  in  the 
Osmia,  240-67 

Silpha,    59-61 

Sitaris,  56 

Snail,  the  prey  of  the  Glow- 
worm, 270-78 


Snail-shell,  Osmia's  use  of,  225 
Sphex,  3,  n,  56,  66,  192 
Sphex,  White,  Banded,  13 
Spiders,     142-201 ;    apprised    of 

prey  by  vibration,  193-201 
Staphylinus,  59 
Stizus,  II 
Swede,  290 

Tadpoles,  20 

Tarantula,      Black-Bellied,      see 

Lycosa 
Thistles,  7,  8 
Thomisus,  192 
Toad,   Bell-ringing,    18-20 
Tree-frogs,  13 
Tree  Wasps,  14 
Turkeys,  how  trapped,  98-9 

Ventoux,  Mount,  14,  222 

Wasp,  Common,  13 
Woodpecker,  53 


120347 


Ill 

A  A      000007635 i 


